


signal

by zero_miles



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, discussion of past injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zero_miles/pseuds/zero_miles
Summary: San's got a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, a reckless disposition, and the need to redeem himself. Seonghwa's just along for the ride.(Or: An already dangerous undercover mission spirals out of control in a hurry and in turn brings closely guarded secrets, both old and new, to the surface.What happens when you say and do something you can't take back? Seonghwa's about to find out...)
Relationships: Choi San/Park Seonghwa, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 91
Kudos: 202





	1. hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Twice song of the same name. Think of it as this fic's theme song ;)

Something about the way the world looks through his office window while the fog rolls in off the river never fails to give Seonghwa a sense of inner calm. It’s something he desperately needs but never seems to get enough of in his day to day life between the normal stress of his job and the added stress his subordinates pile on top of it. If he didn’t know better, he would think they were actively attempting to take years off of his life or make him go prematurely gray or something; as it is, though, he knows that it’s just the way they are, unfortunately for Seonghwa’s sanity. They didn’t collectively wake up one day and decide to become what has to be the most chaotic team of agents the bureau has ever seen—it just happened naturally because that’s who they are as people.

Seonghwa sighs wistfully, turning in his chair so he’s no longer facing his window. If he let himself, he could easily stare at the scene below him for hours. He doesn’t have hours to waste today, though. Not when the higher ups are still very, very angry about the incident report he’d been forced to file two weeks ago and are demanding that he take actual action this time. That part isn’t new, but the fact that they haven’t relented after two weeks  _ is _ . It’s looking like Seonghwa’s usual  _ I’ll talk to them  _ and _ this won’t happen again, don’t worry  _ won’t be good enough this time.

(In his defense, he’s never had to file the same incident report twice—a stern talking to is genuinely usually enough for the specific behaviors in question to not be repeated a second time. Sadly, however, his agents seem to find new ways to create chaos on a monthly—if not weekly—basis. Hongjoong likes to joke that they keep the local criminal population on their toes, which isn’t totally wrong. Doesn’t make it the right thing to do on a continuous basis like their team does, of course, but Hongjoong’s speaking  _ some _ sort of truth there.)

A knock on his office door startles Seonghwa out of his thoughts. He looks up and sighs a little in relief when he sees that it’s just Hongjoong—although, based on the look on Hongjoong’s face, it may not be the relief he’s hoping for. “What’s up, Joong?” he asks, trying to sound chill and not like he’s supremely stressed out.

Hongjoong closes the door behind himself before he sits down, confirming Seonghwa’s theory that he didn’t just come here to have a casual conversation. Those usually take place in Hongjoong’s office, after all. “Are the higher ups still pressuring you to re-assign the field teams?” he asks without preamble, and Seonghwa sighs.

“Honestly, I think that if I push back against this much longer it’s going to go from a suggestion to an order,” he admits. “And that’s if they’re feeling nice, because they’re also gone as far as to suggest relocating an agent or two if things don’t change around here soon. I know,” he says, when Hongjoong’s eyes widen, “I was surprised by that too. So as much as I really don’t want to split any of them up, I’m going to have to, to keep Washington happy. I don’t want to split up all three current teams though, so I guess...put San with Jongho and Wooyoung with Yeosang, leave Yunho and Mingi alone, and call it a day?”

It’s a good plan, Seonghwa thinks. Wooyoung and Yeosang are old friends, friends from long before they ever joined the department, so they know each other well. And Jongho’s both level headed enough and good enough at his job that he should be able to balance some of San’s worst impulses—he’s not quite Yunho, who would be the best option to pair San with, but again, Seonghwa really wants to avoid breaking all three current teams up and pairing up Wooyoung and Mingi isn’t an option he’s even willing to consider.

Hongjoong makes a sharp noise that sounds awfully like a whine. “That’s...not going to work,” he sighs, rubbing his face. 

Seonghwa eyes him warily. “What do you know that I don’t?” he asks. “Oh, god, is there a fight going on I don’t know about? I like to think I’m pretty clued into the team dynamics around here, and I haven’t noticed anything truly amiss lately, but you never know—”

“Yeosang and Wooyoung are in a relationship,” Hongjoong interrupts, mercifully interrupting Seonghwa’s rambling. 

Seonghwa blinks. “Wooyoung and—Yeosang?” he asks, just to be sure. 

“Wooyoung and Yeosang,” Hongjoong confirms. “Yeosang just told me in the ‘interest of transparency’, since, you know,  _ they’re not partners and could have kept it on the down low until they were sure it was serious without violating any department policies _ ,” he adds, deepening his voice in a clear imitation of Yeosang.

“No,” Seonghwa groans. “Oh god, that sounds so bad, because obviously I’m happy for them, even if I never saw this coming.”

“Yeah, I don’t think any of us did,” Hongjoong says, laughing a little.

“It’s just—bad timing, but then again, it’s not like they knew that the main office has been hinting that I should reassign the investigative teams for the last six months and decided to put their foot down now,” Seonghwa continues. “What is good timing in life, anyway? What does that even mean? It’s not like the stars ever really align to make everything fall into place at the exact right moment in real life even if we as a society like to think so—”

Hongjoong reaches out and grabs Seonghwa’s arm. “You’re rambling again,” he interrupts gently. “And you’re about to talk yourself into an existential crisis while you’re at it.”

Seonghwa shakes his head quickly, trying to shake the train of thought he’d been getting carried away with. “Right. Right. Sorry.”

“No big deal, it happens,” Hongjoong tells him, cracking a wry grin. “But you know what this means, right?”

“We have to split all the teams up,” Seonghwa says begrudgingly. He doesn’t know for sure, but he has a feeling that having San and Yeosang work together as partners would end one of two ways—either with them becoming the best investigative pair that the department as a whole has ever seen, or with bloodshed. Considering that’s what started this entire mess in the first place, Seonghwa’s not willing to risk the second outcome. It’s not worth it. 

Seonghwa glances down at the clock on his computer. It’s just after two, meaning that there’s nearly three hours left in the work day. Plenty of time to alert his superiors to his decision and break the news to his subordinates. There’s no sense in dragging this out any longer. 

Hongjoong seems to be of a like mind. “Should I tell everyone that we have a team meeting at four?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says. “This sucks,” he adds.

“I know,” Hongjoong agrees. “I’m sure everyone will understand, though.”

Seonghwa laughs bitterly. While he usually appreciates Hongjoong’s unfailing optimism, he’s certain that at least in this instance, it’s completely misplaced.

* * *

Seonghwa’s right, of course, as much as he wishes he wasn’t.

“Is this because of what I told Hongjoong earlier?” Yeosang demands, springing to his feet, before Seonghwa can even sit down in his chair at the head of the conference table. “Because if it is, I’m filing a complaint. We went above and beyond what was required of us and you know it, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa’s jaw drops. “What the fuck,” he blurts out, completely unprofessionally. “This meeting has absolutely nothing to do with that, and I have no idea why you jumped to that immediately. As if I wouldn’t talk to the two of you in private about a private matter,” he continues, once he’s recovered from the shock of Yeosang’s outburst. 

Yeosang looks slightly chagrined when he says, “I don’t know. The timing of this seems a little suspicious.” His hands are still balled into fists at his sides, but he sinks slowly back down into his chair at least.

Seonghwa can understand that, at least—when you’re preparing yourself for the worst, it’s not hard to take every little occurrence as confirmation that the worst is in fact happening. He would know. “I know, and I do regret that. But we need to get this over with,” he answers, knowing even as he says it that he’s making the situation worse instead of better. 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says cajolingly when he falls silent. “Do you want me to do this?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, resolute. “No, I have to do this. Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he adds, a little crossly, when everyone in the room gives him looks that belong more at a funeral than at a conference table. “It isn’t that bad.”

“You’re the one making it sound bad,” Yunho, always the most level headed one in the room minus Seonghwa himself, points out.

He’s right, and Seonghwa hates it. “Starting Monday, you all have new partners,” he says, blurting it out. It feels a bit like ripping off a bandaid, but that’s probably for the best. “Yunho, you’re with San. Mingi, Yeosang. Wooyoung, Jongho. Any questions?” he asks, cringing internally at how blunt he sounds.

It’s not a surprise to Seonghwa that San’s the first one to speak up. “What the fuck,” he demands. “I want to stay with Wooyoung. We work well together. No offense, Yunho,” he says, voice dropping into something a lot sweeter when he turns to look at the taller man.

“None taken,” Yunho says genially.

“I don’t have a choice, San,” Seonghwa says as calmly as he can manage right now. Which isn’t very, but he knows that he sounds calmer than he feels at least.

“You always have a choice,” San says angrily. “Isn’t that the whole point of you being the boss? That you can do whatever you want? Change it back.”

Hongjoong grimaces. “San,” he says. “It’s more complicated than what you’re thinking.”

San turns to glare at Hongjoong, his eyes flashing. “I don’t think it is.”

Seonghwa’s had enough. He slams his hands down on the table and says, “San. Can I speak with you for a moment in private, please?”

San shakes his head after a long moment. “Whatever you have to say can be said in front of everyone. It affects them all too, doesn’t it?” he asks, snarky, and Seonghwa has never wanted to strangle one of his employees this badly before.

“Fine,” Seonghwa says, exhaling heavily, even as Hongjoong shakes his head. “Remember last month? When I specifically told you and Wooyoung  _ not  _ to make contact with the drug dealer you were trailing and you ended up getting yourself fucking  _ stabbed _ ?”

“Oh shit,” someone—Jongho, Seonghwa thinks—murmurs.

“It was an accident,” San says defensively, even as Seonghwa watches him rub along his newly scarred forearm in what he’d bet his entire paycheck is a completely unconscious movement.

“No,” Seonghwa says sharply. “An accident would have been, I don’t know, you tripping over a rock in an alleyway and breaking your wrist or something. Cornering the target because you saw him reach into his pocket when you weren’t even supposed to be close enough to do so? That’s not an accident. That’s a deliberate disregard of my orders, and it got you injured, San. No,” he says, when San opens his mouth to interrupt. “No, you wanted me to say this here, and now you’re going to listen to me. Understood?” He punctuates his sentence with a glare given to the room at large, and he’s a little pleased to see that everyone looks at least a little rattled, even Hongjoong—but it’s been a while since even he’s seen Seonghwa lose his composure, so maybe that’s to be expected. Seonghwa would be lying if he said it wasn’t nice to see that he still has the ability to scare the shit out of someone when needed, though.

“Understood,” San says.

Seonghwa nods once. “Good. Like I said, you and Wooyoung deliberately disregarded the order I gave you. Not for the first time, either. In fact, you’ve all disregarded my orders on numerous occasions. Do you know how many incident reports I’ve had to send to Washington in the last year? Department protocols exist for a reason, guys. I’ve gotten my ass chewed out so many times since I took over, but that’s usually the end of it because you guys do at least get the job done and get it done pretty efficiently too. But this latest incident is apparently a step too far for them, not that I blame them. 

“Anyway, I’ve been getting hints that I should change up my investigative teams for the last six months, since the park incident,” he continues, watching Mingi duck his head down in shame out of the corner of his eye. “I pushed back, but I can’t push back anymore. Not when I’ve been told that it would be a real shame if some of my current team members were reassigned to a different city if things didn’t change around here quickly. So don’t tell me I had a choice, unless you want to end up in, I don’t know, fucking Iowa, San,” Seonghwa finishes. He’d spoken so much, so quickly, that he’s run himself right out of breath, but the dead silence that follows his speech allows him to catch it easily.

“We didn’t know,” Wooyoung says, both looking and sounding stricken.

Seonghwa scoffs. “Of course you didn’t. It wasn’t something I needed to burden you all with. And to your credit, whenever I got onto any of you about a specific behavior it was always corrected and corrected quickly. Washington is just running out of patience with all of the incident reports that have been piling up, I guess.”

“I genuinely didn’t mean to get stabbed,” San says, refusing to look up from the table.

“Of course you didn’t mean to get stabbed. Who does?” Seonghwa asks, surprising even himself by laughing a little. It has the effect of lightening the atmosphere in the room, at least; Yunho even chuckles along with him, and he’s pretty sure Yeosang has to try hard not to crack a smile. “I know it was an accident, San. It was just one that shouldn’t have been able to happen in the first place, and injuries always set the higher ups on edge. Luckily for us, it was one that didn’t take you out of commission very long.” 

The room falls silent again, and it’s a little off putting. This office is never quiet, and especially so when all eight of them are in the same general area. Seonghwa knows it’s a result of everything he just dropped on them, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Hongjoong, bless him, breaks it. “So, that was it,” he says, laughing awkwardly. “Does anyone have any grievances they would like to air while we’re all here? You’ve got a captive audience. Don’t waste it.” But even that joke falls flat, and Seonghwa sighs. A quick glance at his watch tells him that it’s already almost four thirty, and he knows better than to think that anyone is going to get anything productive done in the next half hour or so.

“Alright, meeting dismissed then. You can all head out if you want, too, and we’ll figure out which new teams will take over what investigations on Monday if you guys are fine with that?” Seonghwa offers. It gives them all a little more time to get used to the idea, anyway, and Seonghwa figures that that can only be a good thing. There’s a quiet murmur of assent in the room, then everyone seems to stand up and shuffle out of the conference room as a single unit. 

San pulls Seonghwa aside when he tries to return to his office to fire off a quick email to Washington to let them know that the proposed investigative team changes have been put into action. “I’m really sorry,” he says, toned down from his normal bubbly self.

“San, I know you’re sorry. You don’t need to apologize again,” Seongwha says, putting his hand on San’s shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly. 

San’s eyes flicker down to Seonghwa’s grasp, and when he looks back up, he doesn’t meet Seonghwa’s eyes. “I fucked things up for everyone, though.”

“You really didn’t. This was bound to happen, honestly, the most recent incident just happened to be one involving you and Wooyoung. None of you are totally innocent here,” he admits, hoping to keep San from putting too much blame on himself.

“Still,” San says fiercely, looking up to meet Seonghwa’s gaze. “I’m going to make this up to you. To everyone, but especially to you. I swear.”

“There’s nothing you need to make up,” Seonghwa tries. He means it, too. San’s a little—okay, a lot—reckless at times, but he’s probably the best field agent Seonghwa has. Which is truly saying something, considering that Jongho is an absolute prodigy that larger offices have been trying to lure away since basically before the kid even officially joined their team.

“There is, and I will,” San says again, and the look in his eyes is so intense that Seonghwa knows there’s no arguing with him when he’s like this. 

Seonghwa drops his hand from San’s shoulder and nods slightly. “You already have,” he says anyway, even knowing it’s pointless. “Have a good weekend, alright?”

San nods once before leaving Seonghwa standing in the hallway leading to his office all alone, and Seonghwa has no idea why he’s suddenly filled with a sense of dread.

* * *

The transition to new investigative teams goes smoothly, thank god. 

Seonghwa knows that he’s lucky that his entire team gets along great, even if you were to overlook that Yeosang and Wooyoung are dating now. They often hang out together outside of work (Seonghwa himself meets them for dinner or drinks about once a month; he wishes he could meet up with them more often, but for the sake of professionalism he forces himself to keep himself at arm’s length) and that Mingi and Yunho had considered becoming roommates at one point to save on expenses. 

Field offices in other cities, he knows, aren’t so lucky—at the last regional meeting, there’d been a cash pot for the person who could come up with the most dramatic fight involving only their subordinates. Seonghwa had been the only person who hadn’t offered up a story of his own, even after a bunch of prodding and several drinks, because he simply hadn’t had one. The worst fight he’s ever seen take place between his team was the time that Yunho accidentally stole Yeosang’s lunch out of the fridge, and even that had been resolved by the next day.

Still, Seonghwa can’t shake the feeling that the transition is going  _ too  _ smoothly.

“You need to relax,” Hongjoong says, leaning so far back in his desk chair that Seonghwa’s a little concerned that he might tip it over and tumble to the ground. Again. “It was always going to go fine as soon as they got used to the change.”

“As soon as San got used to the change, you mean,” Seonghwa says, pacing in front in Hongjoong’s desk.

“Yes, as soon as San got used to the change,” Hongjoong agrees. “And he’s been on his best behavior for the last month, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Seonghwa has noticed. That’s what’s got him feeling on edge, honestly. San has been almost...docile, lately, doing absolutely everything by the book and turning in startlingly detailed reports daily. Even on days where he and Yunho don’t leave the office because everything they need to get done can be done from their desks. He wasn’t even this meticulous during his first few months on the job straight out of the academy.

“Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf,” Hongjoong says when Seonghwa points it out. “It’s been known to happen. Getting stabbed could do that to a person.”

Seonghwa scowls. The Knife Incident, as it’s referred to now, has turned into something of a joke around here now that San’s more than fine and the dust from the fallout has settled. It pisses Seonghwa off, to be honest—the jokes never fail to remind him of Wooyoung’s frantic phone call, the way that bone-deep terror had settled within him until he’d seen for himself that San was okay, the blood soaked shirt that had been sealed in a plastic bag and turned over to him as evidence for the assailant’s eventual prosecution. But there’s a part of Seonghwa that thinks that the jokes are part of how San’s coping with everything—after all, he’d been the first one to joke about it—so he can’t put a stop to them. Or, well, won’t, because obviously he  _ could  _ if he wanted to. He just hasn’t done so.

“It feels strange,” Seonghwa says instead, sidestepping the comment about the Knife Incident. “Like he’s not acting like himself anymore.”

Hongjoong tilts his head. “You’ve spent two years wishing he would operate more by the book, and now that he is, you’re mad about it?” he asks.

“I’m not mad about it,” Seonghwa says, pausing his pacing to give Hongjoong a nasty look. “I’m just saying that it’s unusual, and it seriously seems to me like he’s not acting like himself any longer.”

“Maybe it’s Yunho influencing him to be more calm. Which, unless I’ve totally lost it, is what you were hoping for when you paired them together.”

Seonghwa huffs out a breath, exasperated. He doesn’t know how to describe how he feels about this, because he doesn’t know  _ why  _ he feels this way. Hongjoong’s right—this is literally what he’s wanted for two years, for San to settle down and be a little less reckless, a little more cautious. But now that it’s here, it’s unsettling.

“I just feel like something has to give, and that we’re not going to like the result when it does,” Seonghwa tells Hongjoong, resuming his pacing at an even quicker pace than before.

“Jesus Christ, Hwa, sit down before you wear a path in my carpet. I doubt that  _ my boss is being paranoid  _ would be enough for the government to spring to get it replaced,” Hongjoong complains. 

“Probably not, considering that it took them two months to authorize a replacement fridge for the break room when the freezer stopped working in the old one,” Seonghwa allows, sitting down on the very edge of the cushy chair in Hongjoong’s office that everyone knows is actually Seonghwa’s chair.

Hongjoong snorts. “Yeah, exactly. Seonghwa, listen. I think I know what’s bothering you.”

“You do?” Seonghwa asks hopefully. That makes one of them.

“I think you’ve gotten a little too used to the chaos around here. God knows I have. Now that the chaos has gone on vacation, you’re just waiting for it to come back.”

“So are you, clearly, if you’re even saying that the chaos went on vacation,” Seonghwa points out, even if he thinks that that assessment isn’t  _ quite _ accurate—it doesn’t explain why San’s recent behavior is the only one that bothers him when Wooyoung and Mingi have also been a bit more restrained than normal over the past month as well.

Hongjoong grins, all teeth. “Guilty. Enjoy it while it lasts, because you know that some kind of explosion you’ll have to clean up is just around the corner.”

“I hope you didn’t just jinx us into a literal explosion,” Seonghwa shudders.

“God, me too,” Hongjoong says, making a face. “I’d take it back, but I already put it out into the universe. It’s too late now.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. He often forgets how superstitious Hongjoong can be. “Sometimes I think they made a mistake when they put me in charge instead of you, you know,” he admits. Hongjoong’s not the one losing his head over their subordinates behaving the way they’re actually supposed to behave, after all.

“Nah,” Hongjoong says, shaking his head. “I think they made the right decision. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“No promises,” Seonghwa retorts. The stress ball Hongjoong throws at his head after that is totally expected, even if Seonghwa thinks it undeserved.

* * *

“This is stupid,” Seonghwa mutters bitterly, shaking out his umbrella on the steps of the federal building. The weather forecast had called for a clear, sunny day, and yet a storm system that reminds Seonghwa an awful lot of an actual tropical storm had come through out of nowhere shortly after he’d left for lunch. At least he keeps his umbrella in the backseat of his car precisely for occasions like this one; it had been one of the first adjustments he’d learned to make after the bureau had sent him here close to four years ago now. When the parking garage is half a mile from your place of work, it can lead to some bad times if you’re unprepared. He pushes the heavy door open with a grumble, hoping that someone had thought to take the umbrella bags out so he won’t leave a dripping trail all the way up to the seventh floor.

Yeosang, it appears, hadn’t been so lucky. His socks leave wet imprints on the floor when he shucks his shoes to go back through security, and the glare he gives Seonghwa when he fails to stifle his laugh would strike fear in the hearts of lesser men. “I left it in my office since it was, you know, fucking sunny out when I left for lunch,” he says, unprompted.

“Didn’t ask,” Seonghwa says, toeing off his own shoes and giving the security guard an apologetic smile on Yeosang’s behalf.

“You were thinking it, though,” Yeosang says, and he’s not wrong.

“Hopefully it’s just you who got caught in it, though. I don’t want to have to mop the office this afternoon,” Seonghwa says.

Yeosang arches an eyebrow. “No offense, Seonghwa, but there are people whose jobs it is to deal with that.”

“No point in bothering them when I can do it myself,” Seonghwa shrugs. He sprung for cleaning supplies out of his own pocket for a reason, after all.

Luckily, everyone else had either stayed in the office over their lunch break or had left their umbrellas in their cars like Seonghwa himself had, with the exception of San and Yunho who are out in the field today. Seonghwa doesn’t expect them to return at all today, which means that the mop can stay in the supply closet. 

All things considered, it’s a peaceful afternoon despite the storm raging overhead. Seonghwa spends most of his time responding to emails, including one from his boss’ boss congratulating him on going six weeks without having to file an incident report. Seonghwa can’t figure out if it’s a genuine compliment or a backhanded one, but he answers it as politely and graciously as he can anyway. Better to play it safe, after all, when communicating with a man who could end Seonghwa’s whole career if he truly wanted to.

Seonghwa’s even starting to consider leaving early to beat the usual rush hour traffic, sure to be worse than normal with the storm, when he hears a door slam twice in rapid succession out in the main wing of their office. The slams are followed by shouting, and he’s pretty sure it’s Yunho’s voice he hears. Which is unusual, to say the least.

“What in the hell is going on?” he hears Hongjoong shout next. His office is closer to the main entrance, so it’s no surprise that he’d reacted faster than Seonghwa had.

“I—no,  _ we _ —need to talk to Seonghwa,” Yunho answers, his voice sounding closer than it had just moments before. He appears in Seonghwa’s doorway then, soaked to the bone, dragging an equally soaked through San by the arm. 

“Sit down,” Seonghwa tells them, gesturing to the row of chairs along the far wall and trying not to grimace about how he’ll probably have to take the cushions home to clean them tonight. Hongjoong hurries in after them, closing the door firmly. 

The first thing Seonghwa notices is that San looks antsy. He shifts in his chair uncomfortably, and Seonghwa doesn’t think it’s because of his wet clothes. The second thing he notices is that Yunho looks outright pissed, and that’s an expression he doesn’t think he’s ever seen on the other man’s face before. 

“Talk,” Hongjoong says, standing next to Seonghwa’s desk with his arms crossed over his chest.

“The weapons traffickers,” Yunho says.

“What about them?” Seonghwa asks. “Did you finally get a break in the case?” He really hopes the answer’s yes—they’ve been trying to find the source of the unregistered guns and weaponry that have been popping up all over the city for the better part of an entire year now, but every potential lead they’ve encountered has just led to a dead end. The case had originally been Mingi and Yunho’s, but Mingi had been all too happy to wash his hands of it when they had to reassign all of the active investigations.

(Seonghwa suspects that Yunho would have been happy to give it up, too, but San had asked if they could keep it and no one’s really learned how to say no to San when he pulls out his pleading faces yet.)

“We did,” Yunho says, shooting a completely unsubtle glare in San’s direction. San, who’s been staring at the ceiling ever since he sat down instead of making eye contact with anyone, misses it. “We traced one of the gun purchases to a bar in the Warehouse District. We had a pretty reliable tip, and then we went and talked to someone in the parish jail who seemed to understand that maybe cooperating with the feds might make the local prosecutors cut him a break when it comes time for trial who confirmed it.”

“You didn’t promise no prosecution or anything in exchange for them talking, right?” Hongjoong asks worriedly.

Yunho rolls his eyes. “No, Joong, I didn’t. I know better.”

Seonghwa exchanges a look with Hongjoong. “Alright,” Seonghwa says eventually. “That all sounds like a good thing, then. So what’s the catch?”

“The catch,” Yunho says irritatedly, “is that San took it upon himself to get hired on as a bartender there to continue the investigation, even though you haven’t authorized undercover work for this investigation and oh, yeah, he’s  _ never gone undercover before _ .” His statement is punctuated by a particularly loud clap of thunder, one that makes the lights in the building flicker, and sometimes Seonghwa really hates the universe.

Seonghwa closes his eyes and tries to count to ten before he reacts, and he can hear Hongjoong doing the exact same if his suddenly loud exhales are anything to go by.

Looks like the other shoe just dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/zero__miles) || [cc](https://curiouscat.me/zero__miles)


	2. glory

“Let me get this straight,” Seonghwa says slowly, levelling his gaze on San. “You got a job. At the bar. Where you have good reason to believe that the unexplained, unregistered caches of guns and weapons have been coming from for the last year and a half?”

“It seemed like the logical thing to do,” San says meekly.

Seonghwa pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “How, exactly, was that the logical thing to do?”

San shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “Who knows how long it would take us to get another lead like this? And like, I’ve been a bartender before. In college. I know what I’m doing so they won’t suspect I’m a plant or anything.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you did all of this without permission. I didn’t authorize you going undercover. I have no idea if the higher ups will authorize this either. You getting a job there and then either never showing up, or showing up for a day or two and then quitting, will look suspicious,” Seonghwa retorts.

“No, it won’t,” San snorts. “Have you never worked in the hospitality industry? That’s literally what happens more often than not. At my bar in college, we would have to hire like five people every time we tried to hire one new employee because of that.” 

As much as he wants to, Seonghwa manages to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Okay, fine. Whatever. That’s not even the big issue though. The big issue is that you did this without authorization, and for all we know the higher ups won’t just deny the request, but they could end up disciplining both me and you. Maybe even Hongjoong too.”

Truthfully, Seonghwa knows that won’t be the case. The higher ups _love_ it when their agents go undercover during tricky cases, especially after how well it supposedly worked to uncover who was behind bomb threats that targeted a well known music festival a year or two ago. Not only will they approve Seonghwa’s request to send San in undercover when he makes it (because at this point, he has no choice but to do so) they’ll do so enthusiastically. They might even wonder what took Seonghwa so long to think of sending someone in undercover, and the thought has him clenching his jaw in irritation.

Hongjoong gives Seonghwa a sympathetic look, and Seonghwa figures that the other man knows exactly what Seonghwa’s thinking. Like usual.

“They’ll approve it,” San says defiantly, tilting his chin up. “When was the last time we sent someone undercover? It was before I got here, that’s for sure.”

San isn’t wrong; it’s because Seonghwa believes that sending someone in undercover, particularly for prolonged periods of time—like this situation will likely end up being—should be a truly last resort. It’s dangerous, and if not executed flawlessly, can lead to casualties. Lots of them. It’s just not a risk Seonghwa is generally willing to take. 

All in all, he shouldn’t be surprised that San, of all people, is the one forcing his hand here.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Yunho interjects. “I would have stopped him had I known.”

“Yeah, where were you when this went down anyway?” Hongjoong asks him.

Yunho turns an ugly red color. “We left the prison right as it started to rain and decided to go case out this bar. I was having a hard time finding parking because traffic was shit due to the weather, and San offered to go ahead on foot, saying that it would look more inconspicuous if it was only one of us looking for it.”

“And I was right,” San interjects. “No one thought anything of me going into that bar all by myself. But if you would have been there, a fucking million red flags would have gone up. You look like a cop. I don’t.”

Privately, Seonghwa agrees with San, even as he watches Yunho sputter in indignation. “What is _that_ supposed to mean, San?”

“You just scream cop. Like, just look at you,” San tells him, gesturing wildly in Yunho’s direction. “You dress like a middle-aged accountant, but you carry two guns on you and obviously so. And you’ve had the same haircut for years.”

“Says someone with a goddamned mullet,” Yunho says hotly, and Seonghwa knows that if he doesn’t step in right this second the situation is going to devolve in a hurry.

“Enough,” he shouts, just loud enough to snap the two of them back to attention. “Yunho, you’re not in trouble.”

San raises an eyebrow. “Does that mean I’m in trouble, Seonghwa?” he asks.

 _Lord, please give me the strength not to strangle him_ , Seonghwa prays silently. “No. At the moment, you’re not in trouble, but that might change depending on what Washington thinks about what you did today. It was dangerous of you to waltz on into an establishment you suspect to be a hotbed of criminal activity alone, though.”

“I had four weapons on me and I’m faster than any criminal I’ve ever met,” San shrugs. “I was in absolutely no danger.”

“Four?” Hongjoong screeches. “San, what the fuck? _Four weapons_? Bureau regs only allow for two guns.”

“He has a knife in each boot, Joong,” Seonghwa mutters, exasperated. “They all do, except Jongho, because he says he doesn’t need one. And you literally were the one who gave them the idea, remember?”

Hongjoong’s face turns red. “I knew that. Definitely. Um. It just sounds like a lot when he says it like that.”

Seonghwa sighs. “I’ll contact the main office tonight and ask them for authorization for San to go undercover. San, did they tell you when you’d start? _If_ you start?” he amends.

“Next Tuesday,” San replies.

That’s almost a week from now, so it gives Seonghwa plenty of time to get things in order when this whole operation is inevitably approved. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do. You’re dismissed.”

While Yunho leaves the office immediately, San visibly hesitates, going as far as to open his mouth like he’s about to say something else before shaking his head and following Yunho out. Hongjoong closes the door behind them and sinks into the chair Yunho had just vacated, burying his head in his hands. “The higher ups are going to be ecstatic about this,” he groans.

“I know.”

“We have no idea what he’s walking into. Like, are these low level criminals trying to get their foot in the door? Is it an actual organized gang? Or is it something worse? We don’t know,” Hongjoong frets.

“I _know_ ,” Seonghwa repeats. “Trust me, Joong, I know. But it’s too late now. All we can do is keep him as safe as possible. Which we will do. That’s a promise.”

* * *

Exactly as Seonghwa and Hongjoong had both predicted, Washington is over the fucking moon ecstatic about the possibility of sending San in undercover to further the investigation into the weapons traffickers. So much so that his boss puts him on speaker phone while he tells three other people about it, all of whom end up asking him what took him so long to decide to send one of his men undercover, since as far as they’re aware, Seonghwa hasn’t done so once since he became the head of his office.

The local police are ecstatic about it too when Seonghwa reaches out to them as a courtesy, just in case San unwittingly gets caught up in one of their investigations in the course of his new employment (it can’t be ruled out, after all, and the last thing Seonghwa wants is for San to get thrown in jail because some rookie police officer doesn’t believe that the feds are running an undercover investigation at the moment); the chief doesn’t explicitly say so, but Seonghwa’s left with the impression that they _also_ don’t know what took them too long to do something like this, and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

“Jongho,” Seonghwa asks him, simply because he’s the first person he sees after the phone call with the local PD, “do you think I’m failing you all as a leader?”

Jongho’s brow furrows. “What the hell, no,” he says, forcefully enough that it catches Seonghwa off guard. “What made you ask that? Is it because of San being an idiot? Are you in trouble for that?”

“No, I’m not in trouble, and neither is he,” Seonghwa assures him. “I was just thinking, I guess. I know I can do better.”

The eye roll Seonghwa gets in return is impressive. It rivals even the most exaggerated ones from Hongjoong. “Everyone can do better. No one is perfect. Not even you. You’re doing fine, though. Like, you do remember that I _chose_ to come work for you, right?”

“I remember,” Seonghwa murmurs. It had been one of the biggest surprises of his professional career when Jongho had picked them over the other dozen offices that had tried to hire him after his graduation. Had Seonghwa been in Jongho’s shoes, he’s not sure he could have passed up the opportunity to stay in Washington or go to New York or Los Angeles or something, but Jongho had.

“It was because of you, you know that? Nearly the entire time I was in the academy, the instructors kept bringing you up all the time, talking about how great you were, how you were a model student at your time there, about how if us trainees became half the agent you were before you took the promotion to oversee this entire office then we’d be doing pretty well for ourselves. I figured that if everyone respected you that much, I couldn’t go wrong. And I haven’t regretted coming to work for you once.”

“Really? Not even once?” Seonghwa asks, his lips twitching.

Jongho laughs. “Okay, maybe once or twice,” he allows. “But not because of you. Never because of you. I don’t know why you’re doubting yourself, but stop it, okay? I’m sure everyone here would agree with me, too.”

“Agree with you about what?” Mingi asks from behind Seonghwa, apparently having materialized out of thin air. 

“That Seonghwa isn’t failing us as a leader,” Jongho says, craning his neck to look up at Mingi.

Mingi makes a disbelieving noise. “What the fuck, who said that? Who do I need to fight?”

“No one. You aren’t fighting _anyone_ , Mingi,” Seonghwa sighs. Fighting is what causes half his problems, because most of his team still seems to think that hand to hand combat is the best way to deal with things even after years of training and on the job experience. “I was just wondering. That’s all. I know I could deal with some things better.”

“Even when I don’t understand why you’re doing something that you’re doing, I know you have your reasons which makes them the right reasons,” Mingi tells him. 

Seonghwa nods. “Alright. I believe you. Thanks for indulging me,” he says, a little sheepishly. “Can one of you tell San I need to speak with him in my office when he gets back from lunch?”

“Didn’t you just say no one is in trouble?” Jongho asks.

“I did. He’s not in trouble. I still need to speak with him,” Seonghwa says, clipped.

“I’ll tell him,” Mingi says, patting Seonghwa on the shoulder in a manner Seonghwa’s sure the other man _thinks_ is gentle, but really isn’t. “Now go eat lunch.”

“I already did.”

“Alright, go do whatever it is you do to make sure we don’t die, then,” Mingi retorts cheerfully, going as far as to spin Seonghwa around so that he’s facing the direction of his office. Seonghwa rolls his eyes, but he goes. He’s not sure when San took his lunch break, and he wants to be ready whenever San comes to see him.

Almost an entire hour passes before San knocks on his door, which either means that he had just left when Seonghwa told Mingi and Jongho to send him to him, or that San had delayed as long as he possibly could without seeming too suspicious. If Seonghwa had to guess, he’d place his money on the latter.

“You wanted to see me?” San asks meekly.

Seonghwa nods. “Yeah. Come on in, close the door behind you.”

“Am I in trouble?” San asks, sitting down on the same chair he’d sat in the day before.

It’s all Seonghwa can do not to groan. “I keep being asked that question, and the answer is still no. But since you’re going undercover, we need to figure out how it’s going to work and how we’ll balance it with your other work.”

San visibly brightens. “They approved it?”

“They approved it. But do not take this as permission to pull another stunt like this one again. I will _not_ be happy,” Seonghwa warns. “Am I clear?”

San visibly swallows. “Crystal,” he says, licking his lips.

Seonghwa folds his hands together over his desk. “Good. Alright. So I confirmed that we’ll have new documents for you by Monday—new social security number, new driver’s license, etcetera—”

“I don’t think I’ll need all that,” San interrupts. “No offense. Uh. I think this is going to be an ‘under the table’ kind of thing, if I’m being honest with you.”

“Probably, but you’re going to go prepared with all of that just in case they decide they want to give the impression of being above board with their new employees,” Seonghwa informs him. “Did you tell them your real name?”

San grimaces. “Uh. Well. Yeah, I did. But don’t freak out! They totally thought I said Sam instead of San! So technically, I did not.”

Seonghwa doesn’t know if he wants to scream or laugh. In the end, he does neither. “Okay. Sam. We can work with Sam. Any preference on what you want your fake last name to be? This is your new identity, after all.”

“Nah,” San says after a weird moment of hesitation. “Just tell them to give me whatever. I really don’t think I’ll be using it ever, Hwa.”

“Fine,” Seonghwa acquiesces. “Second, do you have a general idea of what hours you’ll be working there? I know that you probably won’t have set days, but like, what time do they close?”

“You didn’t look that up yourself?” San asks, arching an eyebrow.

Seonghwa raises his own eyebrows right back at him. “Neither you or Yunho have turned in reports about what you learned yesterday or what happened when the two of you split up yet. Literally all I know at the moment is that it’s a bar in the Warehouse District. Although my first assumption is that it’s towards the seedier end of it, if they’re trafficking weapons out of there, I realized that that might be too obvious and instead it might be a fairly upscale bar. Maybe on a corner, since that would give them an almost bird’s eye view of what’s around them, especially if they have access to the upper floors of the building. Have I hit the nail on the head?” he asks, smirking a little when San scowls.

“I actually hate you sometimes,” San tells him.

“So, that’s a yes. Now answer my question, San. What time do they close?”

“Midnight every night but Friday and Saturday. Two AM those nights.”

Midnight’s a little earlier than Seonghwa had been expecting, even after he’d managed to guess that this bar might be on the more upscale side of things, but that’s good. Great, even. He can work with midnight. “And what time did they tell you to show up on Tuesday?”

“They specifically said to show up at seven-thirty Tuesday, but that I’d probably end up working eight to whatever time I finished closing up most nights.”

Seonghwa hums. “Alright. So we should count on you getting back to your home at...let’s say, one thirty each night? Probably earlier, but let’s say that. I still need you to get enough sleep, so what if instead of you coming in for eight each morning, you come in at ten-thirty on days after you work at the bar? And stay until four like everyone else. You’ll still get a lunch break, of course.”

San visibly clenches his jaw. “I can still come in at eight like everyone else. You don’t have to coddle me.”

“I’m not trying to coddle you,” Seonghwa says, a little incredulously. “I’m trying to ensure you’re well-rested on top of not overworking you. The four to five hours you’ll be spending at the bar each night are still you working for us. If anything, I should be telling you not to come in until noon each day, but I knew you wouldn’t agree with that.”

“Ten,” San bargains.

Jesus Christ, Seonghwa thinks. “Fine. Ten. But if you come in even a minute before ten, I’m sending you home early that day. Understood?”

“Understood,” San echoes, although Seonghwa can tell that he’s not happy about it. “Anything else?”

“One more thing, actually. This isn’t a demand or even a request, but it was mentioned to me earlier by one of my superiors that you might want to consider changing your appearance a little to make yourself less recognizable to the weapons dealers. We can’t rule out that you’ve interacted with them before in a professional capacity. This city isn’t that big.”

San’s eyes widen. “Oh?” he asks, reaching up to toy with the ends of his hair. “I’ll take that into consideration. Thanks, Seonghwa.”

“No problem. And don’t be afraid to come to me or Joong about any concerns you have about all this, alright? That’s literally what we’re here for. Anything else?”

“Not unless you’ve got something else to say,” San shrugs.

“Alright, then. You’re dismissed,” Seonghwa tells him for the second time in less than twenty-hour hours. San gives him a genuine smile as he leaves, and it takes Seonghwa a solid five minutes afterwards to remember what else he needs to do today.

* * *

Mondays are always the same for Seonghwa. Other days of the work week can vary wildly depending on what’s happening with his team’s active investigations and what the main office asks him to do on top of his normal duties. Mondays, on the other hand, start with him catching up on work emails (since he has a firm policy of not checking his work email outside of work; if someone needs to get a hold of him in an emergency, they can pick up the phone and call him, as far as he’s concerned), then composing a series of memos to be emailed to both his agents and his superiors about what he expects out of them over the coming week. It’s not necessary that he does so, but Seonghwa likes doing it—it keeps everyone on the same page, and it reinforces to his team that he’s staying up to date on what they’re doing and wants to be involved as much as he can, even if he rarely goes out into the field himself these days. 

By the time he finishes with the memos, it’s usually time for lunch, which he takes in his office before calling into the area wide conference call the main office demands they have every week; it’s generally a huge waste of his time and is something that Seonghwa thinks should occur once a month rather than once a week, but every now and then it proves useful. Afterwards, he meets with Hongjoong to pass along any important or relevant information given during the call before venturing into the main work area to have a brief one on one with whoever’s in the office that day. Sometimes all six agents are in, and it takes him the rest of his day. Sometimes only two of them, or none of them at all, are in, and Seonghwa gets to go home a little early.

Those are always the best days. Mondays, in Seonghwa’s esteemed opinion, can never end soon enough.

The point is: Mondays are routine. Have been, ever since Seonghwa got settled into this position and figured out how he wanted to run his office. They’re boring, but at least he can go through them on autopilot if needed.

Hongjoong slipping into his office, Cheshire cat grin in place, before Seonghwa’s even finished replying to his backlog of emails? That’s a break in the routine, and Seonghwa doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

“This had better be important, Joong,” he says, not even looking away from his monitor. “I don’t—”

“You don’t have time for nonsense, you have a job to do and it’s Monday, I know, I’ve heard it all before,” Hongjoong responds. He sounds like he’s enjoying himself, and Seonghwa feels a sense of dread wash over him. 

“If you know, then why are you still here?” Seonghwa demands impatiently. He’d had more emails than usual to reply to this morning, and if Hongjoong takes up much of his time, he’ll either have to skip lunch today or try to surreptitiously eat while listening in on the conference call this afternoon. It never goes well, so he tries to avoid doing so, but with each passing second it’s looking more and more likely to occur.

Hongjoong’s grin widens, even though it should be impossible for it to do so. “I thought you’d like to know that San listened to your suggestions for once.”

“He usually does,” Seonghwa says absently as he hits send on a particularly terse email (his counterpart in Atlanta is a pain in the _ass_ , and replying to his emails is always a chore). Hongjoong’s giving him a quizzical look when he looks at him, and Seonghwa frowns. “What?”

“Have you forgotten what happened in December? You know, when he and Wooyoung ignored your direct orders and he ended up getting stabbed for it?” Hongjoong asks, deceptively innocently. Seonghwa isn’t fooled, though.

“That’s why I said that he _usually_ does, Hongjoong. When it’s important, he listens to me.”

Hongjoong holds up his hands in a conciliatory manner. “You’re right. My bad. Anyway, I just thought you’d want to know that San seems to be taking this seriously and even listened to your suggestion about changing his appearance up a bit. It’s chaos out there because of it.”

Seonghwa’s frown deepens. “What could he have done to cause that kind of reaction?”

“Come see for yourself,” Hongjoong smirks, showing himself out of Seonghwa’s office. The thing is—the other man knows that Seonghwa can’t resist a direct challenge, which that last statement effectively was, and he curses Hongjoong out in his head until he locates the source of the noise that became audible the second his office door was opened again.

Apparently, San’s bleached his hair sometime between the time he’d left the office on Friday and whenever he came to work this morning, and the sight causes Seonghwa to stop dead in his tracks. If he’s not mistaken, San’s hair looks a little longer than it had last week as well, although that could just be him styling it differently rather than getting extensions or something, and if Seonghwa hadn’t known that it couldn’t be anyone _but_ San he probably wouldn’t have recognized him upon first glance.

“San,” Seonghwa says, and it’s almost funny how quickly all chatter comes to a screeching halt after he speaks. 

“Yeah?” San asks, sounding almost hopeful.

“You know, when I suggested that you change your appearance, I figured you’d go for glasses or something,” Seonghwa admits.

“I was planning on wearing my glasses tomorrow night as well,” San replies, guarded. “Should I have not dyed my hair?”

“I didn’t say that,” Seonghwa says quickly. “It’s nice. Different, but nice.”

“Would you say you like it?” Mingi asks, giving Seonghwa a shit eating grin.

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, but— “I would say that,” he allows. “Because I do. Like it, I mean. Like I said before, it looks nice.”

San clears his throat. “Thanks, Seonghwa.”

“Of course,” Seonghwa answers, smiling at him. “I think that’s enough commotion for one morning though, don’t you? Everyone needs to go back to their own desks,” he continues, giving the room at large the most stern look he can muster up right now—which isn’t very stern at all, if Seonghwa’s being honest with himself.

“You heard the man,” Hongjoong says, serious, although his eyes are full of mirth when Seonghwa looks at him. “Back to work, everyone.”

“Right. And no one bother me unless someone’s dying or someone catches the microwave on fire again,” Seonghwa adds, thinking of the laundry list of tasks he has to accomplish before one o’clock this afternoon. At this point, there’s no way he finishes everything on time.

Or so he thought, Seonghwa realizes with a start when he sends off the last of the memos and checks the time afterward reflexively. He’s still got twenty minutes until his usual lunch break even begins. He’s not sure how that happened, not after this morning’s delay, but it’s not like he’s going to look a gift horse in the mouth either.

* * *

“This is stupid,” Seonghwa says to himself, switching off the TV in his living room and throwing the remote down to the couch. He’s spent thirty minutes scrolling through Netflix trying to find something to watch while he enjoys the glass of wine he’d poured himself to unwind from the day, but nothing’s appealing.

The thing is—Seonghwa’s not a fool. He _knows_ why he can’t seem to focus on anything at all tonight. It’s San’s first night working at the bar, working _undercover_ , and Seonghwa can’t stop going over the worst case scenarios in his head. 

It wouldn’t be unheard of for the informant San and Yunho spoke to at the prison to have passed along the fact that he’d been visited by a couple of feds on the same day that someone just so happened to stop in and get hired. Unless these are low level criminals—and Seonghwa suspects they’re not, not if they’re smart enough to have an upscale establishment as their cover instead of the obvious dive bar—it wouldn’t be hard to to put two and two together. San could easily be walking right into a trap. Someone could pull a gun on him tonight, or, even worse, whoever runs the bar could be biding their time before they turn on San and hurt him.

Or worse.

Seonghwa groans irritatedly as he pushes himself up off the couch and onto his feet. He can’t just sit here tonight, not when San could potentially be in danger. A voice in his head that sounds a lot like Hongjoong tries to say that he’s overreacting, that everything is fine, that San is going to go serve rich people cocktails for a few hours tonight and will show up at the office tomorrow morning without a single hair on his head harmed, but Seonghwa ignores it. He needs to do something to distract himself.

At first he considers going for a run—it being late March means that the humidity hasn’t really set in yet, so he wouldn’t arrive home soaked through with sweat if he did—but quickly discards that idea. Seonghwa has a feeling that would leave him feeling even _more_ keyed up, enough so that he’d probably end up losing sleep. Even if he doesn’t really go out into the field anymore, barring an emergency situation, he still needs to be fully rested each day. His job, and the lives of his subordinates, often quite literally depend on it.

No, there’s only one thing that might possibly calm Seonghwa down enough that he’ll be able to relax and sleep tonight, he realizes as he walks to his bedroom to change his clothes. It’s not the smartest idea he’s ever had—if Seonghwa’s being honest, it’s actually a downright illogical one—but his mind was made up the second the idea came to him.

All Seonghwa can do now is hope that what he’s about to do won’t come back to blow up in his face, or that he can deal with the fallout when it inevitably does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/zero__miles) || [cc](https://curiouscat.me/zero__miles)


	3. riptide

At precisely 10:31 the next morning, Seonghwa hears the distinct sound of a door slamming closed, followed by San’s shout of “Where is he? I know he’s here, the fucking hypocrite.”

Seonghwa sighs and rises to his feet. He’d been hoping he’d managed to be incognito last night, but apparently he failed if San’s this upset. Yeosang, who’d been meeting with Seonghwa to give him an update on the case he and Mingi had decided to prioritize, gives him a questioning look.

“What’s up with San? He sounds like he’s super pissed about something.”

“That’s because he probably is,” Seonghwa admits. San appears in the doorway of his office a moment later, red faced and jaw visibly clenched; if looks could set you ablaze, the one he’s giving Seonghwa right now would reduce him to embers in a heartbeat. “Yeah, he is,” Seonghwa confirms unnecessarily.

Yeosang looks from Seonghwa to San and back again. “Okay, yeah, I’m out. Seonghwa, you know where to find me if you want to talk about this more,” he says hastily, springing to his feet. Seonghwa doesn’t miss how Yeosang gives San a wide berth as he makes a quick exit, leaving Seonghwa alone with the visibly angry agent in front of him—Seonghwa’s pretty sure that San’s shaking and everything.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Seonghwa offers.

“I’d rather stand, thanks,” San snarls. There’s no other word for it. Seonghwa seen him angry before, of course, but he’s never seen the anger directed at himself like this before. It’s a little unnerving, not that Seonghwa would ever admit that under the threat of even death to anyone else.

“At least close the door,” Seonghwa instructs him, and figures he probably should have expected it when San slams the door closed so hard that it causes Seonghwa’s entire desk to shake. 

San crosses the room in three steps and slams his hands down on Seonghwa’s desk. “Why were you there? Last night?” he adds, unnecessarily in Seonghwa’s opinion—they both know exactly what San’s referring to.

“I needed to check it out for myself, I guess,” Seonghwa tells him, honest. “I didn’t realize you’d spotted me.”

San snorts derisively. “Of course I noticed you, Seonghwa! It’s kind of hard  _ not  _ to notice when you’re around, even when you’re trying to go incognito. Did you really think a fucking Saints hat would be enough to disguise your identity? Really?”

“It covered my face,” Seonghwa says defensively.

“Not very well, considering that it took me approximately ten seconds to recognize you,” San retorts.

Seonghwa can’t keep himself from bristling. “That’s different. You know me. You see me five days a week, and have for years now. I’d be more concerned if you didn’t recognize me,” he argues, recognizing even as he says it that he’s essentially contradicting his earlier statement that he didn’t think San had noticed him.

San actually laughs out loud, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “There’s not a criminal worth their salt in this fucking city who doesn’t know who you are, Seonghwa. And you seriously thought a goddamned  _ hat  _ would be a good disguise? Even after you told me to change my appearance?”

“I didn’t really have time to think it through,” Seonghwa says, sitting back down in his desk chair heavily. “I was worried that you were walking into a trap or something, and like I said, I needed to see it for myself that you were safe.”

“What, did you think they were going to execute me on the spot? Or like, drag me to the river and throw me in with weights tied around my ankles or something so I’d drown?” San laughs. When Seonghwa doesn’t answer, he quickly sobers up. “Fuck, you actually did think something like that would happen. Seriously?”

“If your informant at the prison passed along that he talked to some suits the same day someone came in off the street asking for a job, it wouldn’t be unheard of for something like that to happen,” Seonghwa answers wearily. “Particularly if it’s a particularly brutal group of people we’re dealing with, here.”

San arches an eyebrow. “ _ We’re  _ not dealing with anything. It’s me. Well, me and Yunho I guess, but I think we all agree that Yunho should stay far, far away from the bar while the investigation is underway.”

“San,” Seonghwa snaps. “You know exactly what I fucking meant. Don’t get bogged down in semantics because you’re pissed off and feeling self-righteous.”

After a sigh so heavy it seems like it was ripped straight out of his soul, San sits down in the same chair he always sits in when he’s in Seonghwa’s office and rubs his face tiredly. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Yelling is an understatement, Seonghwa thinks. Honestly, if he truly wanted to, he could write San up for insubordination due to his behavior over the last ten minutes. He  _ won’t _ , but he easily could. 

“I’m not saying it was appropriate, but I do understand why you were so angry,” Seonghwa tells him placidly. “Are you calm enough to tell me how it went?”

“I think you know how it went,” San says, clearly unable to help himself. Seonghwa’s not surprised, though; he hadn’t actually thought San had managed to pull himself back together this quickly, and his acting skills can only take him so far.

Seonghwa doesn’t even try to hide his eyeroll. “I saw that you didn’t die. I saw that a couple of customers flirted with you and you flirted back, but let them down easy. And I saw the tiny guy come out of the back and talk to you a few times. I’m assuming that’s one of the owners of the place.”

“He’s literally the same height as me,” San grumbles. “But yeah. He wasn’t the guy who hired me, that guy was a lot taller, but he said that he’s one of the owners. I have no idea if he knows about the weapons trafficking though, or how many other owners there are.”

“It was your first night. Of course you don’t know that yet,” Seonghwa says, taken aback. If the traffickers told every new employee about their illicit deeds on their first night of employment, they wouldn’t have gotten very far. “Did you notice anything unusual or notable about him?”

San straightens in his chair. “Actually, yeah. He was wearing gloves.”

“Sorry?”

“He was wearing leather gloves the entire time. Even though he was wearing a ugly printed shirt, he was wearing gloves,” San repeats. “I’m surprised you didn’t see that.”

“I didn’t have the greatest view,” Seonghwa admits. He’d chosen to sit in a dimly-lit corner to avoid San seeing him, but with as badly as that had backfired, he’s thinking now that he probably should have just bitten the bullet and sat at the bar, or at least close to it.

San’s gaze hardens. “By the way, the fact that you told me to come in late because I was at the bar late, but then came in at your normal time even though you were also at the bar late is like, super hypocritical of you.”

This, at least, Seonghwa has a good explanation for. Not that he truly needs to explain himself to San, but he finds himself doing so anyway. “I was hoping no one would know I was there,” he reminds San. “So of course I couldn’t come in late.”

“Whatever,” San scowls. 

“What other days do they have you working this week?” Seonghwa asks.

“Tomorrow, then not again until next Monday. They don’t trust me to work the weekend yet.”

Seonghwa can’t help but wonder if that’s simply because they don’t trust a new employee to be able to keep up with the weekend rush, or if there’s a more sinister reason behind not wanting San there on what are likely to be the busiest nights (and therefore, provide more cover for any and all illegal activities). “Okay. You’re dismissed.”

“Seriously? That’s it? I’m just...dismissed now?” San demands.

“If you’d like, we can have a discussion about professionalism and how many conduct rules you’ve broken since you stepped into the office this morning instead,” Seonghwa says lowly. “Or, you can go back to your desk. It’s really up to you.”

“You know, on second thought, going back to my desk seems like a great idea,” San rushes out.

“That’s what I thought,” Seonghwa replies, and manages not to smirk.

Hongjoong pokes his head in Seonghwa’s office exactly twenty minutes later. The timing is so precise that Seonghwa suspects that Hongjoong had been giving him time to cool down, just in case he needed it, but not  _ too  _ much time either. “Can I come in?” he asks.

Seonghwa gestures towards the empty chairs. “Be my guest.”

Hongjoong snorts but enters, closing the door behind him. “So,” he drawls, slouching down in the chair furthest from the door.

“So,” Seonghwa echoes, closing his laptop. There’s nothing interesting waiting for him in his email application right now, anyway. “You can cut the bullshit, I know you heard most of that.”

“Guilty,” Hongjoong grins. “Are we writing him up for that outburst? It was pretty, uh. Rough.”

Again, Seonghwa knows he  _ should _ , but he still doesn’t want to. Hongjoong’s eyebrows shoot up practically into his hairline when Seonghwa tells him so, explaining that in his eyes, San’s outburst was perfectly justifiable.

“If he had talked to me like that, you would have written him up before he even finished,” Hongjoong points out.

It’s true, but Seonghwa shrugs it off. “I would have been pretty angry at me too, had I been in his shoes,” he admits. 

“Whatever,” Hongjoong says, clearly getting that he’s not going to get much else from Seonghwa on the subject.

“Are...you mad about this?” Seonghwa asks hesitantly.

Hongjoong’s brow furrows, like he needs a moment to sort through his feelings on the matter. “No,” he says eventually. “A little confused as to why you were so worried that you felt like you had to involve yourself rather than asking someone else to do some light recon, but not mad,” he continues, but in a tone of voice that implies he’s not actually confused at all. He sounds long-suffering, even, and now Seonghwa’s the confused one.

“Didn’t even think of asking someone else to go,” Seonghwa admits. Maybe if he had come up with the plan earlier in the day he might have, but not at eight at night.

Hongjoong nods. “About what I thought,” he mutters. Seonghwa chooses not to comment on it, because he’s fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to hear it. “Are you going back a different night, or are you going to leave it alone now?”

Seonghwa doesn’t answer. Judging by the way Hongjoong makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan, it’s likely answer enough.

* * *

“Whoa.”

Seonghwa jumps, nearly dropping the gun he’d been examining. It wouldn’t have been a disaster if he  _ had  _ dropped it, since it’s currently unloaded thanks to the fact that he’d pulled it out of their armory a minute before, but that’s beside the point. “Jesus christ,” he mutters, turning around to face a visibly surprised Yunho. “You startled me.”

“You startled  _ me _ ,” Yunho retorts, one of his giant hands clutched to his chest dramatically. “I didn’t hear you come in. I thought I was alone in the office.”

“Yeah, well, same,” Seonghwa huffs. “What are you even doing here? It’s almost six,” he says, glancing at the watch on his wrist.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Yunho tries. He visibly shrinks back when Seonghwa arches an eyebrow at him, though. “Local PD sent me three new reports of suspects they took into custody who were carrying untraceable weapons, all of which were picked up Saturday or Sunday. It looks to me like there might have been a new shipment delivered sometime last week, because two of them were carrying guns that we hadn’t previously seen before.”

Seems like Seonghwa’s hypothesis that San was kept far away from the bar over the weekend because illegal shit was going down was correct, then. “That’s kind of strange,” he muses.

“What do you think is strange?” Yunho asks.

“That they caught two people red handed with new types of guns this weekend,” Seonghwa says, running his thumb idly across the barrel of the gun in his hands. “It could just be a coincidence or some inept criminals, but it seems a little...I don’t know. It just seems strange, for lack of a better word.”

Yunho nods. “Yeah, I thought it seemed a bit unusual, so I noted it in my update. I just sent it to you, so it should be in your inbox by now.”

“Sounds good. I’m looking forward to reading it,” Seonghwa says, and means it. Yunho’s reports are always short and straight to the point, no unnecessary information involved—definitely not something that can be said for everyone in this office, unfortunately. “You headed home now?”

“Yeah,” Yunho answers, even as he visibly hesitates. “Um,” he says, his eyes flicking from the gun in Seonghwa’s hand to the top of his head before settling on a point that’s clearly somewhere behind Seonghwa rather than directly on his face. “Am I allowed to ask what’s going on here?” he asks eventually, after what had to have been at least a minute of torturous silence.

“You can ask,” Seonghwa replies cheerfully. “It’s a free country, after all. But I don’t have to answer,” he continues, pocketing the gun. It’s smaller than the ones he prefers to carry when he does carry a gun, but that’s a good thing in this case. Less conspicuous.

Hopefully, anyway.

“I mean, I can probably guess,” Yunho says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Seonghwa hums. “I would hope so, considering what you do for a living. I still don’t have to confirm or deny anything.”

Yunho gives him an unimpressed look. “For the record, the only reason I’m not giving San a heads up is because I don’t want to be considered an accomplice when he murders you.”

“He won’t,” Seonghwa says confidently as he selects the right sized inside-the-waistband holster from the assortment in front of him. He generally prefers to use a shoulder holster or a more obvious outside-the-waistband holster when he’s armed, but neither of those are subtle enough for what he needs right now.

Yunho sighs. “Considering you’re you, you’re probably right.”

* * *

It takes San almost five minutes after Seonghwa takes a seat at the bartop to recognize him later that night, no doubtedly due to his newly dyed hair, and it’s kind of ridiculous how proud of himself Seonghwa feels when he sees San’s grip tighten on the bottle of whiskey he’s holding. He watches intently as San makes his excuses to the customer he’d been chatting with and sets the bottle aside before he stalks over to the corner Seonghwa had chosen due to its proximity to the back exit, scowling.

“You know,” San hisses, “when I told you that your fucking Saints cap was a bad disguise, I meant that you should stay at home from now on. I didn’t mean that you should bleach your hair and come back.”

Seonghwa pouts at him. It’s not something he would normally do, but right now he’s playing a role just like San himself is, and he wants to sell it. He’d worn casual clothes tonight, so it’s not like he can play the part of a stoic business man or something. “I thought it looked good. Anything else would have made me stand out too much,” he says, all but whispering. 

It’s a surprise San can even hear him over the loud jazzy music playing, but he does. “Red,” he says flatly. “Brown, even.”

“The woman who normally does my hair for me said that red wouldn’t look nearly as good as blond. I decided to trust her judgement,” Seonghwa says blithely. In all honesty, he’d gone in wanting to go blond and hoping that she wouldn’t find a reason not to do it, but that’s not something San needs to know. “Also, brown wouldn’t have been enough of a change.”

San casts a brief glance over his shoulder. “You need to order something.”

“What?”

“You need to order something,” San repeats through gritted teeth. “It will look super suspicious if you’re sitting here without a drink. And if you order a martini, I swear to god I will murder you and won’t even bother to make it look like an accident.”

“A glass of red wine sounds nice,” Seonghwa tells him after a moment of deliberation.

He’s not entirely surprised when San scoffs. “Of course it does.”

“Oh, and San? Choose a good one. I can expense this,” Seonghwa says conspiratorially. 

That, at least, does make San crack something of a smile.

“I’m still pissed off at you about this,” San murmurs a few minutes later, when he sets a half-full wine glass down on the bartop in front of Seonghwa.

“I expected nothing less,” Seonghwa agrees, taking a sip of the wine. It’s excellent, so San had clearly taken him at his word. Good.

“But I have a feeling that you’re going to keep showing up, huh?” San continues, sounding resigned to his fate. 

“Likely, yes,” Seonghwa says.

San sighs. “Wonderful,” he mutters, sarcastic, before leaving Seonghwa alone when another customer at the other end of the bartop signals for him. 

Seonghwa watches him leave, taking another sip of his wine as he does so—it really is excellent wine. It’s unfortunate that it’s almost certainly well out of his price range, or else he’d probably buy a bottle for his own personal use. Maybe in a different life, he muses. In this one, he’ll just have to settle for being able to charge the government for a glass or two at a time.

* * *

Two weeks later, and Seonghwa’s gotten his routine on the nights San works at the bar down to a science already. He leaves the office at his normal time and heads straight to his apartment where he usually takes a brief power nap while he either waits for his dinner to finish cooking in the oven or waits for delivery. Once he eats, he showers and changes into his casual, but not  _ too  _ casual outfit of the night and sweeps his hair back off his forehead, sometimes going as far as to smudge a little eyeliner around his eyelids for an extra kick. Then, he watches Jeopardy or some other mildly entertaining but ultimately mindless show on TV until eight o’clock on the dot, at which time he arms himself—one gun in his waistband, one knife in his boot—and then makes the short drive to the bar and sits at what has already become ‘his’ spot in his mind, fifteen minutes after San’s shift starts, remaining there until shortly before last call each night.

San, for his part, has gone from glaring daggers at Seonghwa every time he sits down to  _ smiling _ when he sees him arrive. Not a lot, but enough that Seonghwa knows that he’s the reason for San to smile. It’s a relief; at first, Seonghwa had been convinced that San might actually hate him for interfering with his undercover assignment to this extent, and the prospect had bothered him quite a bit.

San treats Seonghwa with the same casual indifference most of the time as he does any other patron, which suits Seonghwa just fine. It gives him plenty of time to observe the comings and goings of the other patrons and of the other employees. And even though his time spent in the bar has been relatively short, Seonghwa’s already noticed a few things that interest him. 

First: there are very few, if any, regulars. Probably because this  _ is  _ a classier establishment—San’s told him that there aren’t even any bottom of the barrel cheap beers on the menu, which makes sense—but he’s never seen the same person come in twice, not even a stuffy businessman or two. Easily explainable, but interesting nonetheless.

Second: there aren’t many employees here either. Seonghwa supposes that worked out in their favor, considering that San was able to walk in off the street and get hired immediately like he was, but it still intrigues him. Are there only a few employees by design? That could be the case, considering that it’s never been so busy that San wasn’t able to handle all bartender duties on his own. Did something happen before San was hired that caused an employee shortage? Or do they have employees that only work weekends, the only nights that San hasn’t been scheduled to work yet? Once again, it’s something that could have a number of innocent explanations, in Seonghwa’s opinion, but it seems a little off.

Finally: the owners slash managers of the bar are very,  _ very _ hands-off. The short man that had shadowed San on his first night usually makes an appearance at some point during San’s shifts, and Seonghwa has seen a tall man who San had later told him had been the one to hire him in the first place on one occasion, but that’s it. Seonghwa doesn’t know a lot about business, but he knows that if he ran a bar stocked with top of the line alcohol with a new employee working alone behind the bar, he’d be keeping a  _ very  _ close eye on things. There could be cameras, he supposes, but cameras aren’t infallible. Cameras can’t catch everything.

It's Wednesday, which means it's a slow night. So slow that Seonghwa is one of only three customers in the bar at the moment, and he doesn't think anyone's walked through the doors for almost an hour now. Part of Seonghwa kind of wants to go home, read through the eighty page long investigative report that Jongho emailed him earlier that day so he doesn't have to do it tomorrow, but part of him feels like the almost eerie stillness of the bar right now is just ripe for  _ something  _ to happen. However, if he sits here on this barstool watching San organize the bottles of liquor behind the counter much longer, Seonghwa thinks he might scream.

The stool makes a harsh scraping noise against the hardwood floors when Seonghwa stands up, and he winces. San turns around and gives him a questioning look—he probably thinks Seonghwa's about to leave—and Seonghwa tilts his head in the direction of the bathroom. He doesn't have to take a piss or anything, considering he's been nursing one single solitary glass of wine for close to two hours now, but it's a change of scenery at least.

When Seonghwa exits the bathroom a few minutes later, the short man whose name San  _ has  _ told him before but that Seonghwa can't remember for the life of him is leaning against the opposite wall, clearly waiting for Seonghwa to come out.

"Hey, buddy," the man says, grinning menacingly in a way that shows off all of his teeth, "let's talk."

Seonghwa stiffens. "Talk about what?"

"You, of course," he says, slapping a gloved hand down on Seonghwa's shoulder. It stings a little—Seonghwa has no doubt that was intentional, either—but Seonghwa refuses to give him the satisfaction of reacting. After a moment, the man huffs, and Seonghwa counts it as a tiny victory. A battle won, if you will. "So I can't help but notice you've been spending a lot of time in my bar lately, sipping on expensive wine and paying with cash. Which is interesting on it's own, but I  _ also  _ can't help but notice that your visits always coincide with the shifts of a certain new bartender of ours."

"It's not what you think," Seonghwa begins, wincing on the inside at just how cliche of a defense it is but needing to buy a little time to think up a reasonable explanation. He'd known that eventually someone would get suspicious of his showing up at the bar every time San was working, but he'd genuinely thought he'd have more than just a scant two weeks.

The man arches a pierced eyebrow. "Oh, really? Because to  _ me _ , it looks like you're some creep trying to impress the pretty bartender by showing off how much money you have by only ordering the most expensive wine we carry and leaving him large cash tips."

Seonghwa relaxes. That, at least, is an assumption that he can easily explain away. "Oh, no, it's nothing like that. I know San quite well, actually. I know he's got tons of experience working in bars, and this part of town isn't nearly as bad as it used to be, but I still worry about him, you know?"

"You know him?" the man asks, sharp.

"Yes. I literally just said I did," Seonghwa replies, hating how the frustration he's feeling bleeds into his voice.

"So, if we went and asked San right now if he knows you, he'd confirm?" the man presses.

"He's not currently pissed off at me, so yeah, I think so," Seonghwa says.

The man's grip on Seonghwa's shoulder tightens. "Great! Let's go ask him now," he says cheerfully, steering Seonghwa none too gently back towards the bar. When they come to a stop next to the stool Seonghwa'd been sitting on for several hours, he shoves Seonghwa forward so forcefully that he nearly stumbles.

"Uh," San says, "what's going on here?"

"Funny you should ask," the short man says. "I'm convinced this guy right here's some creep that's like stalking you or something gross like that, but he says you know each other. That true?"

San nods rapidly. "Yeah, I do. We know each other really well. Like, we see each other almost every day, not even counting him insisting on spending the nights with me here even though I have told him so many fucking times he doesn't have to," he says pointedly.

"And I've told  _ you _ so many fucking times that I want to, so I will," Seonghwa says sweetly.

The man looks from San to Seonghwa and back again, letting his hand slide off Seonghwa's shoulder. "You could have just told me you were his boyfriend," he tells Seonghwa reproachfully. "Or you could have told me he was your boyfriend from the start, too!" he continues, glaring playfully at San. "We aren't bigots around here! One day I might even introduce you two lovebirds to my own boyfriend," he winks, taking a step back.

For the first time in a very long time, Seonghwa's left speechless. San, it seems, is in a similar predicament, as neither of them are able to find the words to correct his really, really fucking illogical assumption before the man throws the two of them  _ finger guns _ , of all things, and retreats into the kitchen.

Seonghwa figures that San's speaking for them both when he says, quietly but emphatically, "Fuck my fucking life."

* * *

It's not  _ surprising  _ that the news that San's boss at the bar thinks he and Seonghwa are dating reaches the office before Seonghwa himself does the next day—Seonghwa has no doubt that San told Wooyoung or someone about it the second he arrived home early this morning—but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

Hongjoong is even waiting in Seonghwa's office for him, which feels a little over the top to Seonghwa if he's being honest.

"So," Hongjoong says, and he sounds like he's trying not to laugh.

"Don't start," Seonghwa warns him.

Predictably, Hongjoong ignores him. "That's quite the predicament you've gotten yourself into, huh?" he grins.

Seonghwa tilts his head, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You having a fake boyfriend. You having  _ San _ as your fake boyfriend," Hongjoong replies. "Interesting, huh?"

"I suppose so. It was the last thing I was expecting to happen."

"Really? Because I'm not actually surprised by this," Hongjoong says, and Seonghwa's jaw drops.

"What on earth does that mean?"

Hongjoong raises both eyebrows. "Listen, if you don't already know, I'm not the one to tell you. But that doesn't even matter now. Do you have a plan to deal with this? Because honestly, this isn't a bad thing. It gives you an iron clad excuse to be there. Granted, it does make you look like a really overbearing boyfriend, but some people are into that. I'm not kinkshaming."

Seonghwa gives Hongjoong the most incredulous look he can muster. "Was there even a point to what you just said, or are you just here to make fun of me?"

"Sorry," Hongjoong says, sobering up a little. "Okay. My main point is, this isn't a bad thing. You have an excuse to be there now that no one will question. That's good. Really good. However, I can't help but wonder once again why you didn't get someone else to do this. Yunho is literally San's partner. Shouldn't he be the one to be watching San's back night in and night out? Considering that's his day job?"

"It was my idea to be there, so that makes it my responsibility," Seonghwa says. It isn't exactly the whole truth, but Seonghwa doesn't know how he would explain something like  _ I just feel like I have to be there because I can't let him get hurt when I could potentially keep it from happening  _ to Hongjoong.

Hongjoong sighs. "That's not the case, and you know it, but I suppose I have to accept that reasoning," he says. "Also, you bastard, you could have given me a heads up. I was the last one besides you and San to get here this morning and the office was in fucking chaos. It took me half an hour to calm everyone down and get them focused on their actual jobs."

"Oh, no," Seonghwa says tonelessly. "Your life is so rough. My condolences."

"I appreciate the sympathy, as sarcastic as it is," Hongjoong says, standing up. "You're lucky I don't sic Mingi and Yeosang on you. You know they're ruthless."

Yeosang especially, Seonghwa thinks with a barely concealed shudder. He's never met anyone else so good at prying secrets out of people. "Yeah, don't do that, please," he requests. "You have anything important on your plate today?"

"Actually, yeah. I have a meeting with the DA later today. In that report Jongho sent you yesterday, he mentions that they found a few suspects that aren't involved enough for the federal government to prosecute them, but who the state might be interested in going after. So I'm bringing those to her."

"Give her my best wishes," Seonghwa says, meaning it. The DA is tough, but she's fair and genuinely interested in justice. That can't be said for all prosecutors. "I'm going to hide in my office while you're gone, then."

Hongjoong laughs as he leaves Seonghwa's office, like Seonghwa had just told him the funniest of jokes, but—Seonghwa means it.

Or at least, Seonghwa means it until he realizes that he'd forgotten his water bottle in his car and is dying of thirst. He's not about to walk the half mile each way back to his car to grab it when there's a perfectly good fully stocked public break room two floors down, so Seonghwa decides sneaking downstairs is worth the risk.

The office is oddly quiet when he slips out, considering that as far as he's aware, Hongjoong's the only one out of pocket at the moment. It is close to lunch, though, so there's always a chance that a few of his agents decided to take an early break today, Seonghwa muses.

Although the break room is usually deserted (it's almost never used for its actual purpose; usually people go in, buy whatever it is they want to buy from the vending machines, and leave again), today Seonghwa can hear voices coming from inside it as he approaches the doorway. He slows, not wanting to interrupt a potentially private conversation, and realizes with a start that he  _ knows  _ those voices.

"—you sure?" Wooyoung's saying. "This just seems like a really, really bad idea to me."

"It's fine," someone else says. San, Seonghwa realizes. It's clearly a conversation so private they'd felt the need to leave the office, and so Seonghwa  _ should  _ walk away, give them back the privacy they think they're enjoying.

_ Should _ , but doesn't. Seonghwa's feet are rooted to the ground; he doesn't think he could leave right now even if he tried.

"It isn't fine," Wooyoung says impatiently. "This is a really, really bad idea. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I didn't really  _ choose  _ for this to happen, remember. It kind of spun out of control without me doing anything for once," San retorts.

Someone sighs. Wooyoung, Seonghwa thinks. "This is bad all around. You're going to get hurt, and I'm seriously afraid that Yeo and I won't be able to pick up the pieces and put you back together when it's all said and done either."

"I  _ am  _ an adult, Woo. I know how to take care of myself. I won't get hurt. I'm fine."

"Do you? Know how to take care of yourself?"

Silence. 

Then: "This won't go on forever, either. It's probably only going to be a week or two. Also, I'm not a baby. Please don't act like I am," San says, his voice breaking on the last word.

"Fine. Fine. But I'm keeping an eye on things, alright? And if I think it gets to be too much, I'm stepping in—no, don't argue, I don't give a fuck. You're more important to me than any investigation in the entire goddamned world, okay?"

Wooyoung's statement is punctuated by the unmistakable sounds of sniffling and the rustling of clothes, which Seonghwa assumes means they're hugging now.

Seonghwa turns around on his heel and hightails it out of there, the bottle of water he'd originally come downstairs to get long forgotten.

* * *

"Hey. Can we talk?"

Seonghwa looks up, more than a little surprised to see Wooyoung standing in his doorway. "Sure. Come on in, take a seat."

Wooyoung shakes his head. "No need. This will be quick."

"Okay," Seonghwa says warily. "What's up, Woo?"

Wooyoung exhales heavily. "San is reckless. San's impulsive. And San thinks he has something to prove to you, specifically. But he trusts you."

"And you...don't trust me?" Seonghwa asks, eyebrows shooting up.

"I'm not saying I don't trust you," Wooyoung says placidly. "Just...please don't hurt him, okay? He feels so much more than you or anyone else realizes."

"Wooyoung, I can promise you that I will do everything in my power to make sure San doesn't get hurt. Actually, that I  _ am  _ doing everything I can to make sure he doesn't get hurt,” Seonghwa swears.

"Are you, though?" Wooyoung asks cryptically, and Seonghwa has the vague impression that they're talking about two very different things here all of a sudden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. bad liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Here's a 8.5k chapter to make up for it.

_a little over two years earlier (march, 2018):_

There’s an angel standing next to the courthouse steps when San arrives to his third day of work in his new city, scowling up at the building. His eyebrows are slanted downwards, giving him an almost untouchable aura, but oh, San wants to touch.

But the angel is a stranger—a stranger in a three piece suit, but a stranger nonetheless—so San doesn’t touch him, because that would be rude but also because as a representative of sorts of the federal government, it’s up to him to act appropriately while serving in that capacity. He might not technically be on the clock right yet, but he’s literally standing outside his workplace, so like, he might as well be.

Instead, he comes to a stop next to the angel and clears his throat just loudly enough to catch his attention. “Hi,” San says, sounding a little squeaky to his own ears and cringing internally. “Are you lost? I can totally help you find your way! Well, maybe not, because I’ve only worked in this building for two days now, but I can probably at least help you find someone who _does_ know their way around this place,” he continues, realizing that he’s rambling a little bit but unable to keep himself from doing so. He’s never been the smoothest around people he finds attractive, much to his chagrin. Well, unless he’s playing a role and can slip into another skin, but right now he’s just himself.

Inexplicably, the angel’s face smooths out, scowl suddenly replaced by what San would describe as a ‘cautiously optimistic’ look. “Two days—San?” he asks, leaning forward the slightest bit while he blatantly scrutinizes San’s face.

“That’s me,” San says, chuckling awkwardly. Maybe the angel works for security or something and was working on issuing San’s permanent building pass yesterday? Actually, San thinks, that wouldn’t be a bad thing at all; working in the same building would give San the opportunity to see the angel fairly often, which would give him the chance to get to know him and maybe even ask him out on a date one day (unless, of course, the angel turns out to be a horrible person, but like. Call him naive, even after several years of working at the Bureau, but San just doesn’t believe a person that looks like _that_ could be bad).

The angel smiles, and his entire face lights up. “Oh, good. I thought so, but you look a little different than the headshot that’s in your personnel records. We should get that updated once you get settled in,” he says, almost to himself, and San’s heart sinks.

“Are you—Seonghwa?” he asks, knowing even as he says it what the answer is. His new boss had been out of town during San’s first two days of work due to him having a mandatory conference to attend in New York and the Agency deciding to have San start on a _Wednesday_ for some godforsaken reason. Hongjoong, Seonghwa’s second in command who had been the one to show San around and get him situated in the office a couple of days ago, had confided that Seonghwa had been pissed about how that situation had played out. So that would explain why he was scowling at the building when San had come across him.

“That’s me,” Seonghwa says, echoing San’s earlier words, and San has no idea if it’s deliberate or not. “Hongjoong tells me that you and Wooyoung are getting along well,” he adds suddenly, turning on his heel and ascending the steps. San follows, knowing that he’s meant to, what with the previous statement directed his way.

San has to scramble to catch up--Seonghwa’s legs are longer than his, and he’s taking the steps two at a time for some godforsaken reason—before he can answer. “Yeah. Yeah, we are. We have a lot in common,” he acknowledges, which is kind of an understatement. He and Wooyoung had clicked immediately—faster than San’s ever clicked with someone before in his entire _life_ , even. It had kinda felt like they’d known each other forever right from the start.

(It was a shame, then, that it had taken San less than a day to realize that Wooyoung was probably in love with another one of their co-workers, even if Wooyoung himself didn’t realize it. San has a feeling he does, though. He seems like the type of guy to be pretty in tune with his own feelings.)

“Good,” Seonghwa says, nodding. “I’d thought you’d be good for each other based on your personnel file. Looks like I was right,” he muses, holding the door open for San and frowning when he turns towards the public security line.

“I haven’t gotten my building ID yet,” San explains, a little sheepishly despite it not being his fault. With Seonghwa gone, Hongjoong had had no time to accompany him to the security office over the last few days, and he explains as such as quickly as he can.

Seonghwa arches just one of his impressive eyebrows. “Follow me,” he says, and San wouldn’t deny him even if he could.

Thirty minutes later, San sits down at his still unfamiliar new desk with a shiny new ID clipped to his waist and sighs. Wooyoung looks up at the noise, and then laughs out loud.

“You just met Seonghwa, huh,” he says knowingly.

“Yeah,” San says, and it comes out slightly breathless. “He’s…wow.”

Wooyoung nods. “Yeah, he’s something alright. I think everyone reacts just like that the first time they meet him.”

San snorts, a little disbelievingly. “Even you?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, flushing a little. “So believe me when I say it’ll go away. Not that he’s not great or anything, but, you know.”

 _I hope you’re right_ , San thinks. The last thing he wants is to catch real feeling for his fucking _boss_. That would just be a disaster waiting to happen.

* * *

_eleven months later (february, 2019):_

“I’m in love with him,” San groans, letting his head drop onto the table in front of him as he vocalizes the realization that had slammed into him like a ton of bricks earlier that day and therefore making it real (because everyone knows that saying something out loud makes it a real, tangible thing instead of just a fleeting thought). “I’m such a fucking idiot. How could I have let this happen to me?”

It had been so _dumb_ , too, the way San had realized it—he’d stopped by Seonghwa’s office just before lunch to turn in an expense report early for once instead of leaving it until the very last second, and Seonghwa had looked up from the map he’d been poring over to give San a genuine smile, with the sun shining in from the window behind him lighting his hair up like a halo—and just like that, San had realized that he was well and truly fucked.

“I’ll drink to that,” Wooyoung sighs, clinking his glass against the almost empty one clutched in San’s hand a little too forcefully; it vibrates enough that San yanks his head back up off the table just to make sure that the glass didn’t break.

It didn’t, thank god; San’s too drunk to deal with going to the emergency room for the stitches that would have inevitably resulted from holding a glass in his hand while it shattered.

“What is this, a toast to wanting someone you can’t have?” San asks wryly.

Wooyoung slams his now empty glass on the table and points a finger in San’s face. “Yes! Exactly! We’re com—com—um,” he frowns, scrunching his nose in a manner that’s too cute for the circumstances in San’s opinion. 

“Commiserating,” San says carefully, trying not to stumble over the word himself.

“That’s it!” Wooyoung says a little too loudly, his eyes lighting up. “It sucks.”

“We need more alcohol for this,” San says decisively, getting to his feet. Wooyoung makes a noise that sounds kind of like a whine, but he doesn’t say _no_ , so San takes it as implicit agreement. “I’ll be right back then,” he promises.

* * *

_one day after that (still february, 2019):_

“Ow,” San groans, flinging an arm over his eyes to block out the sun that’s shining in through the window and aggravating his pounding head. Which is weird, because his bedroom window faces the west so the sun shouldn’t be this bright in here this early— 

“Shut up, it’s too early to be awake,” Wooyoung whines, and suddenly San remembers that he hadn’t gone back to his own apartment last night. He hadn’t wanted to be alone when last call rolled around, and neither had Wooyoung; going back to Wooyoung’s place instead of his own had seemed like the natural thing to do.

San rolls over, burying his face into a pillow. “I wasn’t expecting the sun to be shining in my eyes at the crack of fucking dawn,” he retorts, and feels it when Wooyoung stills next to him.

“Um,” Wooyoung says slowly. “Do you—”

“Are you about to ask me if I remember that we fucked last night?” San asks, moving his head just enough that he can kinda see Wooyoung out of the corner of one eye. He kind of wants to laugh, but manages to suppress the urge since, you know, the motion would definitely just aggravate his pounding head.

Wooyoung has the decency to look embarrassed, at least. “Not anymore,” he replies, smiling a little sheepishly. “Are you hungry?”

“Weren’t you the one just telling me it was too early to be awake?” San questions.

“Yeah, but I’m awake now and my head hurts and my mouth feels disgusting and I could really go for some waffles right now,” Wooyoung yawns, sitting up. “You in?”

“I’m not moving until you bring me some painkillers,” San informs him. 

“Needy bitch,” Wooyoung sighs, but when he leaves the room he returns again almost immediately with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol that he lobs none too carefully at San’s head.

An hour later, once the pills have kicked in and they’ve both showered off the worst of the residual grossness from the night before, San allows Wooyoung to lead him down the street to a tiny hole in the wall diner the other man swears has the best breakfast menu in the city. Wooyoung’s clearly a regular here, because the waitress greets him by name when they walk through the door, but he doesn’t miss the wary look she gives San when she shows them to a table tucked near the back wall.

Wooyoung clearly noticed it too, because he gives San a sheepish look once she walks away, leaving them alone to pore over the menus. “Uh. I usually come here with Sangie,” he admits, and San nods in understanding.

“So she thinks I’m intruding,” he says as he picks up the menu, and Wooyoung flushes.

“I—no, I doubt it, she’s probably just not used to me coming here with someone else,” Wooyoung says, and the thing is, he probably thinks that’s the truth.

San waits until the waitress comes back and takes their orders before he looks at Wooyoung and asks, “Are we gonna talk about the elephant in the room yet or nah?” 

Wooyoung meets his gaze head-on, smiling wryly, and something in San that had been worried he might have fucked up one of the most important relationships in his life currently during a moment of distress settles. “We should,” he agrees.

They fall silent long enough that it borders on awkward, though, and San breaks it with a laugh that’s probably more awkward than any silence ever could have been. “It was fun?” he offers.

Thankfully, Wooyoung laughs at that, and it’s a real laugh instead of the forced thing San had let out moments before. “It was,” he nods. “It’s too bad we’re not into each other, honestly, because even with us both being drunk it was pretty great. But, you know,” he trails off, and San sighs.

“Yeah, I know,” he confirms. “You’re definitely not wrong, though. Since at this point I don’t think it’s going to fuck up our friendship, I’m pretty sure I can safely say that I have no regrets,” he jokes. “Best one night stand I’ve ever had, I think.”

Wooyoung snorts unattractively, even as he visibly relaxes. “Same,” he says. “I mean, I’m taking this to the grave, but I’m not upset that it happened.”

San winces. “Yeah, this stays between us,” he says quickly. Even though they’re both fine with what happened between them last night, it’s something that could end badly if it ever became common knowledge at work (and not just because of the Yeosang factor, either). “Thanks for being here for me.”

“Always,” Wooyoung swears, and San thanks the stars above that the look in Wooyoung’s eyes is sympathy rather than pity. He’s never quite figured out how to deal with people feeling sorry for him.

* * *

_four months ago (december, 2019)_

Yeosang has been acting strangely. Or so Wooyoung says, anyway; as far as San’s concerned, Yeosang’s current behavior is the exact same as it’s been for the eighteen months that San’s known him.

San manages not to grind his teeth when Wooyoung brings up Yeosang for the fourth time this _week_ , which is a real feat considering that it’s not even noon on Tuesday yet—something about how Yeosang hadn’t offered to bring him coffee this morning, even though San’s never known Yeosang to bring Wooyoung coffee often, if ever. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he says, aiming for placating and probably missing that by a mile considering how annoyed he is. “There could be a hundred reasons why he didn’t ask. It probably just slipped his mind,” he continues, bringing their department-issued SUV to an abrupt stop at a sudden yellow light.

Wooyoung sighs exasperatedly. “No, it’s definitely not nothing,” he whines. “He won’t even look at me anymore.”

“Okay, I know that’s not true,” San replies, successfully stifling a laugh. He’d seen Yeosang staring holes into the side of Wooyoung’s head just yesterday, and when Yeosang had realized he’d been caught he hadn’t even had the grace to act bothered when he’d turned back to whatever it was he was actually supposed to be doing. 

“Okay, fine, he’ll still look at me. But I’m telling you, he’s avoiding me,” Wooyoung swears. “Everything was fine when we all went out for my birthday two weeks ago, but he’s been distant ever since I came back back from visiting my parents over Thanksgiving and it _doesn’t make any sense_.”

This is the first time Wooyoung’s actually articulated something specific about Yeosang acting strangely, instead of just saying that he _is_ , and San would be lying if he said it didn’t pique his curiosity. “I can’t think of anything weird that happened, though?” he questions.

Wooyoung exhales loudly. “Me either. Literally everything was the same as it always was when we all hang out together outside of the office, down to Mingi making the stupid jokes that he likes to make.”

The mention of Mingi and his dumb jokes makes San feel like he’s forgetting something important. “What jokes did he make, Woo?” he asks, frowning as he tries to rack his brain.

Wooyoung sighs again, this time irritatedly. “The same stupid ones he makes every time someone has a birthday about how maybe this will be the year we stop being married to our jobs and find a real person to shack up with instead or whatever,” he recites, and San doesn’t have to be looking at him to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” San hums, realization dawning on him as he waits to make the left hand turn back into the parking garage of the federal building. “And what did you say to that one?” He knows, but he wants Wooyoung to tell him anyways. San’s got a feeling that the answer to what’s happening with Yeosang is like, glaringly obvious, but Wooyoung’s being willfully ignorant at the moment (likely out of self-preservation, but still. Willfully ignorant). The lead they’d been following this morning had been a bust, but maybe this morning won’t turn out to be a massive waste of time after all, San thinks.

“I laughed, and then I said that I sure hoped so, because waking up alone all the time is getting old,” Wooyoung recounts.

“And how did Yeosang react to that?” San presses.

“San,” Wooyoung says, warning in his voice.

“What?” San asks innocently as he finally makes the turn after what feels like an eternity. “Did he not say anything at all?”

“He laughed,” Wooyoung tells him, voice flat. “He laughed and made a face and then he excused himself and I didn’t see him again until we were leaving the club.”

San smiles a little. “Why do you think he did that?”

“Because he knows I’m in love with him and was lying to save my ass in front of everyone and didn’t want to laugh in my face, probably,” Wooyoung snaps.

“Uh, that’s not where I was going with that at all,” San says, taken aback by the ferociousness of Wooyoung’s answer. “I was actually leaning towards _maybe he’s realized that he’s in love with you too_ with a healthy side of _you really should talk to him_.”

Wooyoung laughs bitterly. “No. Nope. Never. I’d rather die alone with a best friend than without one, thanks.”

San rolls his eyes. “Wooyoungie. Darling. Light of my life. You’re going to reach a breaking point at some time. Isn’t it best to do it on your own terms instead of losing control?”

“That won’t happen,” Wooyoung replies confidently. Smugly, even. “Trust me.”

* * *

 _two weeks later (still december, 2019)_ :

“Something has to give,” Mingi says, glaring daggers at Yeosang’s desk. “I’m going to strangle him.”

Privately, San agrees. San also just happens to know that at this point, it would take an actual act of God himself to make Wooyoung do something, anything, to fix the palpable tension between him and Yeosang—and Yeosang is even _more_ stubborn than Wooyoung is. “You’re not wrong, but nothing is going to change,” San sighs.

Mingi points a finger at him. “Don’t worry. I have a plan,” he announces. “You in?”

San squints at him. “How about I just don’t stop you?” he suggests. Mingi’s plans usually lead to chaos, and he wants no part of it this time—but he also wants this situation resolved, so he’s kinda stuck between a rock and a hard place here.

“Better than what I was expecting from you, honestly,” Mingi grins. “Yunho told me not to tell you, but I figured you’re probably the most sick of this out of all of us.”

“Yeah,” San admits, thinking of how Wooyoung had been clearly on the verge of tears during their lunch break earlier when Yeosang had left the office without a word to anyone, slamming the door behind him. “I’m too close to the situation to be involved in whatever you’re planning, but like I said, I’m not going to stop you.”

Mingi winces. “Yeah, you right, you right,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “But it’ll be fine. Leave it to me.”

Famous last words, San thinks to himself, and is proven right the next night during their unofficial holiday party at Yeosang’s apartment, of all places (‘unofficial’ because they’d taken seriously elaborate measures to hide it from Hongjoong and Seonghwa, although San’s sure they know it’s happening and are choosing to turn a blind eye to it), when there’s a sudden scream that can only be Wooyoung, followed by a slamming door.

“Mingi, you didn’t,” San accuses, whirling around so fast that the drink in his hand sloshes over the edges and splashes onto his hand. Locking two people in a closet so they’re forced to talk out their problems is the oldest cliche in the book, and he’d honestly thought Mingi had too much pride to stoop that low.

“I didn’t!” Mingi whines. “I was going to force them under some mistletoe so they’d kiss and break the tension between them! I’m not the reason for them being locked in a freaking _closet_ together.”

San facepalms, slapping his hand against his head a bit harder than he meant to. The sound reverberates through the room, and he can’t help but think it’s fitting for the current situation. He’d apparently had too much faith in Mingi, because that’s like, the second oldest cliche in the book and probably—no, _definitely_ —would have made things worse instead of making them better. “Whatever,” San sighs. “Should we try to get them out of the closet? Since I know no one’s going to admit to being behind this,” he adds, pushing past Mingi to try and do just that.

There’s another yelp from the direction of the closet door, and then— “No!” Yeosang shouts. “He’s not leaving until he talks to me.”

San exchanges a look with Jongho, who’s standing closest to the closet that Yeosang apparently intentionally barricaded himself and Wooyoung inside of. “Maybe we should go,” Jongho suggests slowly.

“Yeah, do that, actually!” Yeosang yells.

They haven’t even exchanged their Secret Santa gifts yet, though, so it’s not like they can actually _leave_. Instead, the four of them retreat to the kitchen, which San figures is a safe enough distance away from the linen closet that Yeosang and Wooyoung can have a private conversation without being overheard. 

“We give them twenty minutes before we go see if they murdered each other,” Jongho says as they sit down at Yeosang’s kitchen table.

“That long?” Yunho asks doubtfully.

“Unless we hear screaming,” San shrugs. “But also, not it. I’ve had to deal with this enough already.”

“Same,” Jongho says quickly, and San gives him a sympathetic look. Being Yeosang’s partner over the past few weeks has probably been just as trying as being Wooyoung’s partner has, even if in a different way.

“Rock paper scissors?” Yunho asks Mingi, who groans and holds out a fist. Neither of them end up wanting to admit defeat, however, and they’re on round seventeen out of what is now a best out of twenty tournament when they’re interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a door slamming shut.

San closes his eyes, preparing himself for Wooyoung to like, storm out of the apartment or something equally dramatic, knowing that he’ll have to follow him and try to calm him down. But when he opens his eyes, he’s greeted by the sight of Wooyoung and Yeosang standing in the kitchen doorway, Yeosang’s arm looped around Wooyoung’s waist, and the two of them wearing matching sheepish grins on their faces. Not to mention, you know, the blush on Wooyoung’s face. _FInally_ , San thinks.

“Finally!” Mingi shouts, jumping to his feet and knocking over the chair he’d been sitting on. “At least, I think…?” he trails off hesitantly.

Yeosang looks at Wooyoung and his grin slips into something smaller but impossibly tender. With a look like that, words aren’t really needed, San thinks, but Yeosang answers anyway. “Yeah,” he confirms. “Finally.”

* * *

_three months ago (january, 2020):_

San’s not sure how long he’s been staring blankly at the wall. Hours, probably. It’s not like he has anything else to do right now. He’s _fine_ , he’s totally fine—well, as fine as he can be, considering that, you know, he had to pull a switchblade out of his bicep a few hours ago, but it doesn’t even hurt that bad right now. Not to mention that it missed the artery in his arm, so basically it’s just a scratch that’s going to take a bit to heal—so the fact that he’s been sitting in the hospital waiting for the doctor to come talk to him before he’s officially discharged for hours now is both completely ridiculous and more than a little suspect in San’s eyes. The only positive thing is that they’d moved him to an actual room once his procedure had finished instead of sending him back to the small exam room in the ER, so he can at least lay down on something resembling an actual bed for the moment.

Wooyoung had, of course, come with him to the hospital, but he’d had no choice but to leave when the doctor had shown up to stitch up his arm. San assumes that he’d gone back to the office after that to fill in Seonghwa and/or Hongjoong about what had happened, but he can’t know for sure considering that his phone had gotten smashed to fucking pieces during the scuffle. Of course, he hadn’t figured that out until _after_ Wooyoung had left, so even when he does get released from this godforsaken hospital he’s not sure how he’s going to get back to the office. Walk, probably, as unappealing as that sounds. 

“Mr. Choi?” a nurse says from the doorway, tearing San away from his brooding thoughts. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“How can I have a visitor when I haven’t been officially admitted?” San asks, not bothering to keep the irritation he’s feeling out of his voice. “Is it finally the doctor?”

“Afraid not,” a familiar voice says. Hongjoong steps around the nurse a moment later, and his eyebrows are so high that San wonders if they’re going to blend in with his hairline soon. “Give us a minute?” he asks the nurse, smiling guilelessly at her.

She, of course, agrees without even thinking twice about it. San scoffs and rolls his eyes; he wants to cross his arms over his chest, complete the exasperated look he’s going for here, but he’s already learned the painful way that moving his right arm too much really kind of hurts. “Why do I feel like you’re the reason I’ve been stuck here for hours with no explanation given?” he asks crossly.

Hongjoong huffs, sitting down on the edge of the bed San’s on. “Seonghwa called the hospital and told them to release you into our care and nothing else.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” San asks, arching an eyebrow. It kind of _seems_ illegal, or at least not on the up and up. He’s an adult, and his bosses aren’t his power of attorney or next of kin legally or any of that shit. 

“I honestly don’t know,” Hongjoong shrugs. “But no one really knows how to say no to Seonghwa when he directly asks him to do something. You of all people should know that.”

“Jesus, Hongjoong,” San says blankly. “Really?” He’d been well aware that his feelings towards Seonghwa are obvious to pretty much anyone who cares to notice (except Seonghwa himself, of course), but it stings quite a bit to have them so casually thrown in his face like that. Especially since today’s already been really, really shitty. 

Hongjoong, at least, clearly knows he fucked up immediately. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that,” he grimaces. He sounds genuinely apologetic too, so San decides to be the bigger person and let it slide. Besides, the sooner this conversation ends, the sooner he can get the hell out of here.

“Whatever,” San mutters. “Shouldn’t he be here, then? Not you?”

“I actually asked if I could come. He needed to call Washington, anyway,” Hongjoong tells him, eyes going earnest. “I wanted to talk to you. Privately. This gives me a chance to do so, even though the circumstances are admittedly pretty shitty here.”

San sucks in a breath. “About what?” he asks, even though he thinks he probably already knows.

Hongjoong laughs, a little awkwardly. “At the risk of sounding like a cliche or whatever, is everything okay outside of work? You’ve been acting a little differently lately. And even you’re not normally as reckless as Wooyoung says you were today. It’s not like you.”

“Everything’s fine,” San lies.

In all honesty, he _couldn’t_ be real with Hongjoong right now, even if he had wanted to be. How can he tell Hongjoong that while he is happy for Wooyoung and Yeosang, he’s also concurrently so jealous of them that it makes him feel sick to his stomach when Hongjoong doesn’t even know that they’re together? It’s not his place.

Even if Hongjoong _did_ know about them, though, San wouldn’t want to talk about it anyway. He knows that everyone would assume that he’s jealous of Wooyoung and Yeosang because he’s harboring feelings for Wooyoung instead of/in addition to his feelings for Seonghwa, when that’s not the case (San almost wishes it _was_ , though; if he did have feelings for Wooyoung, he’d be able to get over them pretty damn quickly because of how obviously happy the other man is now). 

No, he’s jealous of what Wooyoung and Yeosang _have_ . Finding out that the man you’ve been in love with for years loves you back? San would give a lot to be in that situation himself, even as he knows without a doubt that that’s never going to happen. Not for him, considering that Seonghwa would be untouchable even if Seonghwa _wasn’t_ his boss. Even as a regular person, Seonghwa is so far out of San’s league that it’s almost laughable. 

And as much as San hates to admit it, having to deal with that jealousy burning inside of his veins day in and day out is probably why he felt brash enough to sneak up on a drug dealer he knew was most likely armed, despite having orders to only tail the dude today. Engaging in reckless behavior when something’s bothering him like this has always been one of his coping mechanisms, unfortunately for both his health and his poor mother’s sanity.

“San…” Hongjoong says gently. He clearly doesn’t believe him, and San can’t blame him. He’s not the best liar, which can be kind of tricky sometimes in this line of work, but especially so when it comes to his emotions. He tends to wear his heart on his sleeve.

Hongjoong studies him for a long moment, then sighs. “You would let me or Seonghwa know if something was interfering with work, right? You know that we don’t mind giving you a mental health day or week if you need it. Actually, scratch that, you know we _want_ to do that, if you need it.”

“I would,” San says quietly, feeling a little guilty. He had genuinely considered calling in today, taking one of those aforementioned mental health days since he’d woken up in a bad mood, but had decided that he could handle it. Obviously, wrong fucking call, but it’s not like he can turn back time to eight hours ago and prevent all of this from happening, either.

Hongjoong clearly wants to push the issue further, but he thankfully drops it. “Okay. Just remember that you’ve got an office full of people who are here to support you anyway we can,” he says, and San resists the urge to snort. He highly doubts that his co-workers would be totally chill with him admitting that hey, he got himself stabbed because he isn’t good with coping with really strong emotions and oh yeah, that emotion is jealousy, of all things. San nods instead, and Hongjoong seems satisfied. Probably realizes that this is the best he’s going to get, San thinks.

“Now that you’re here and we’ve had our serious talk time, can you find a doctor? They won’t let me leave until one comes in and talks to me,” San asks.

“Be serious for once, please,” Hongjoong admonishes, but he stands up anyway. “Oh, by the way, have fun with being on desk duty for the next couple of weeks while that wound heals, too!” he adds, a little too gleefully for San’s liking, and only the fact that San actually loves his job keeps him from throwing Hongjoong’s previous statement right back in his face.

(Well, that and the fact that he probably doesn’t need to anyway; Hongjoong’s expression makes it clear that he knows exactly what he’s doing.)

* * *

_seven weeks ago (february, 2020)_

This, San thinks, is either the best idea he’s ever had or the worst one. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t have a crystal ball, so he can’t know for sure until he goes through with it. If all goes well, he’ll go a long way to proving himself to Seonghwa again and giving him a reason to be proud of him. If it doesn’t...well, San doesn’t want to think about that.

Still, he hesitates for a second in front of a wooden door that’s surprisingly heavy, even for this part of the city. Of course, if he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t find anything truly off-putting about the door, but knowing what he and Yunho know now? It gives him pause.

Time is of the essence here, though, so San steels himself and pulls the door open, thanking every deity possible that he’d dressed casually today thinking that he’d be spending his entire day back at HQ. What he’s about to do would be a lot harder if he was in a suit and tie.

Not surprisingly, the bar is basically deserted. Two people are sitting at a table in the very back corner, and a tall, willowy man stands behind the bartop, watching them impassively. When the door slams closed behind San, he turns slowly to look at him, and San gets the distinct impression that he’s being sized up.

“Can I help you?” the man asks after San doesn’t move forward immediately.

“Um, yeah. I was wondering if y’all were hiring?” San asks, taking a cautious step forward. He hopes any nervousness in his voice will be dismissed by the stranger in front of him as normal nerves that go along with walking into an establishment and asking for a job instead of anything else.

If San wasn’t paying close attention to him, he would have missed the way that the man’s eyebrows raise just a tiny bit. “I guess that depends,” he drawls, fiddling with his long sleeves, “on if you know what you’re getting into.”

His phrasing would be almost funny if this wasn’t such a serious situation, San thinks. “I’ve got a lot of bartending experience,” San tells him. “I worked in a bar for three years when I was in college back in Denver, and I miss it.”

The man looks a lot more interested now. “So you’ve got experience, and you’d be looking for—what, a few nights a week behind the bar? Nothing full time?”

“Correct,” San says, trying not to sound too eager. “Like I said, I miss being behind the bar. Plus it never hurts to have a little extra cash, you know?”

The man laughs, the first actual reaction San’s gotten out of him. “Don’t I know it,” he agrees, and it feels a little slimy, knowing that the man in front of him is very likely involved with high dollar gun trafficking. “What’s your name, kid?”

“San,” San says stupidly.

“Sam?” the man asks, and San somehow manages not to sag with relief even as he mentally berates himself for donig something as fucking _stupid_ as giving his actual first name to a potential suspect. He’s still fairly new around here, so there’s a higher chance of him not being known to the criminals of the city yet, but he knows that some of the bigger operations are fully aware of the names (at minimum) of each member of their team. 

“Yep. Sam,” San rushes out. 

The man nods to himself. “Alright, Sam. I’m Hyungwon. Be here at seven-thirty next Tuesday. You’ll probably come in at eight any other day you work, but you’ll need some time to get familiar with the kitchen and bar area before your first shift. Thirty minutes should be enough, though.”

“Wait, really? That’s it?” San asks. Is this guy seriously about to hire him on the spot without even testing his skills…? There’s no way he’s getting _this_ lucky, is there?

Hyungwon arches an eyebrow. “Yeah. I assume that you’re not lying about your experience, and if you are, either myself or one of my business partners would have no problem throwing you out on your ass for making a fool out of me. Just something for you to keep in mind.”

“I’m definitely not lying,” San assures him, holding back the urge to pinch himself to make sure this is actually happening. “Do I need to bring anything with me?”

“Just yourself,” Hyungwon says, disinterestedly. “Any other questions? See you next Tuesday, then,” he finishes when San shakes his head. It’s a clear dismissal, and San wastes no time in exiting the building. 

He steps out into a downpour and grimaces; he’d left his umbrella at home today, so unless Yunho had stashed his in the back of their government-issued vehicle (unlikely), then San’s likely going to get drenched on the way back to the office, if not the way back to wherever the fuck Yunho parked. Lovely. 

If San runs across the street, well, he can blame it on the rain. He knows there’s a parking garage three blocks down, and it’s likely where Yunho had decided to park. San hopes so, anyway; while he’s on the sidewalk he’s pretty much protected from the downpour by the awnings of the businesses lining the street, but if Yunho parked in a parking lot, he’s going to be soaked for the drive back to the office, which just sounds like a bad time all around.

Thankfully, he almost quite literally runs into Yunho in the middle of the next block, and it’s only Yunho’s large hands reaching out to grab San’s waist that keep him from tumbling to the ground in an unceremonious heap. “Thanks dude,” he grunts. “I was hoping I’d find you this way. Did you park in the garage?” he asks hopefully.

“Wait, what? What are you doing? Is the tip we got a bust?” Yunho asks worriedly. 

San grins. “Nope, it’s definitely a bar. It’s on a street corner, in a three story building, and the front door is wooden and weirdly heavy. Definitely not a bad place to be if you’re looking to do some illegal shit.”

“How do you know about the door? You shouldn’t know that about the door, unless you went inside or something,” Yunho says. “Please tell me that you didn’t go inside.”

“Not only did I go inside, but I went inside and got a job so I can, like, infiltrate their operation. If there is in fact an illegal weapons trafficking ring operating out of there,” San says excitedly, lowering his voice to a near whisper. He doesn’t actually need to—honestly, there’s almost no place more suited for a private conversation than a busy sidewalk, because no one passing by gives a shit about your problems—but he errs on the side of caution anyway.

“You did _what_?!” Yunho shrieks, clearly not caring if anyone else hears.

San sighs. “I got—”

“I wasn’t actually asking you a question,” Yunho groans, wrapping a hand around San’s left forearm. “How in the fuck did you manage that? I left you alone for less than ten goddamned minutes!”

San stays silent, letting Yunho all but drag him down the street. He’d be kind of powerless to resist anyway, considering that Yunho is much stronger than he is.

“San,” Yunho snaps.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that was actually a question,” San snarks. “I don’t know, dude, I was actually surprised by how quickly it went. I went in, asked if they were hiring, told them I had bartending experience, and then they told me I would start next Tuesday.”

Yunho gives him an incredulous look when they draw to a stop at the entrance of the parking garage. “San. Stop fucking around.”

“I swear that’s what happened,” San protests. “Literally, what else could have happened? You said it yourself, you left me for ten minutes!”

“You’re actually serious,” Yunho says disbelievingly. “You went and got a job at that bar, without authorization, when we don’t even know if the tip is legit or not.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds kinda bad,” San mumbles.

Yunho laughs. It’s not a nice sound. “Kinda bad,” he says. “ _Kinda bad_? Seonghwa is actually going to murder you. I might even help him.”

“It’ll be fine,” San dismisses, with much more bravado than he actually feels. He knows that there is a chance that Seonghwa might actually kill him, but that’s a risk he decided he was willing to take. He needs to do this. He’s been the source of a lot of frustration for everyone, but especially Seonghwa, lately. If going undercover is what it takes to smooth things over and to get Seonghwa to trust him again, then San’s willing to do it. 

Whatever it takes.

* * *

 _one month ago (march, 2020)_ :

“Y’know, I had a feeling I’d find you here,” Wooyoung says.

San closes his eyes and buries his head in his hands with his elbows propped up on the table in front of him. It hasn’t even been ten minutes since he slipped out of the office, and while he knew Wooyoung would find him eventually, he’d figured he would have had a bit longer than this. 

“Go away,” San says.

Not surprisingly, Wooyoung doesn’t leave. Instead, he drags a chair around from the other side of the table in order to sit next to him and drape an arm across San’s shoulders loosely. When San shifts a little closer, Wooyoung tightens his grip immediately. “As if I’d leave you to have your breakdown alone,” Wooyoung tells him gently. “Hey, listen. I didn’t know Mingi was close enough that he could hear me when I told Yeosang about the whole situation this morning. So it’s my fault that things were so chaotic when you got here this morning, so I’m really sorry about that.”

San shrugs listlessly. “They would have all found out sometime today. At least I didn’t have to deal with the initial freak out over it, because I bet that was even worse.”

“Yeah, true,” Wooyoung admits. “How did this even all happen, anyway? Your voicemail wasn’t really clear about that.”

San lifts his head so he can look at Wooyoung. “It’s so fucking stupid,” he starts. “Literally one of the guys at the bar thought that Seonghwa was like, stalking me or something, which is kind of funny—”

“Also kind of accurate,” Wooyoung interrupts. “I still don’t know how he got the address in the first place.”

“I told you, Yunho probably included it in his initial report about the tip we got,” San reminds him. “Anyway, like I said, one of them thought Seonghwa was a creepy stalker, so he apparently confronted him in the hallway? Then he dragged Seonghwa back to the bar and asked me if I knew him, and I was like, yeah I do, I see him every day, whatever. And then suddenly he was asking why we didn’t just tell him we were boyfriends and even offered to introduce us to his own boyfriend.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. “And you just...let that happen?”

“I was kind of too stunned to speak,” San retorts. “And after a few minutes Seonghwa was like, _you know, this is actually helpful_ , blah blah blah, and I realized he was right.”

"Are you sure?" Wooyoung asks. "Because this just seems like a really, really bad idea to me."

"It's fine," San tries. He knows Wooyoung doesn’t believe him. Fuck, he doesn’t even believe _himself_. But he has to try and keep a brave face here—it’s too late for him to do anything else at this point. The damage has already been done.

"It isn't fine," Wooyoung says, sounding more impatient than San’s ever heard him sound before. "This is a really, really bad idea. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I didn't really choose for this to happen, remember. It kind of spun out of control without me doing anything for once," San retorts.

“This is bad all around. You're going to get hurt, and I'm seriously afraid that Yeo and I won't be able to pick up the pieces and put you back together when it's all said and done either,” Wooyoung says worriedly.

San shakes his head. "I am an adult, Woo. I know how to take care of myself. I won't get hurt. I'm fine,” he promises.

"Do you? Know how to take care of yourself?" Wooyoung says critically, and San freezes. He’s not the best at putting his head before his heart or emotions (see: the reason why he and Wooyoung are no longer partners, to start with) so it’s unfortunately a valid question, even if it hurts. Well. Kind of.

"This won't go on forever, either. It's probably only going to be a week or two. Also, I'm not a baby. Please don't act like I am," San deflects, hating the way that his voice breaks at the end. He’s a goddamned federal agent, he shouldn’t be about to cry in the breakroom just because it feels like he’s losing control of a situation that was never that great to begin with because of impulsive choices he made.

"Fine,” Wooyoung gives in. “Fine. But I'm keeping an eye on things, alright? And if I think it gets to be too much, I'm stepping in—no, don't argue, I don't give a fuck. You're more important to me than any investigation in the entire goddamned world, okay?"

San stifles a sob as he shoves his face against Wooyoung’s shoulder. Wooyoung’s other arm comes up to wrap around him automatically, one hand rubbing soothing circles against San’s back. “Don’t cry,” he pleads, voice muffled by the top of San’s head. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I just need a minute,” San chokes out. Wooyoung hums, then notably stiffens. “What?” San asks.

“Thought I heard something. Never mind,” Wooyoung says. “But take as long as you need, alright? If anyone has a problem with us not being in the office right now, I’ll take care of it. Or even better, I’ll get Sangie to take care of it.”

Despite everything, San laughs. “He might hurt someone.”

“Exactly,” Wooyoung says proudly. “So we’re in no rush here.”

That’s still not entirely true, but San lets it go. “Okay,” he says, relaxing against Wooyoung a little bit more. Things aren’t okay—won’t be until this investigation is over, honestly—but for the moment he feels like it might not be _bad_. That’s going to have to be enough for now.

* * *

_now (april, 2020):_

“San.”

San looks up from his laptop, relieved to get a temporary break from the terribly dull investigative file he’s been poring over ever since he got back from lunch, even if said distraction is coming courtesy of Seonghwa. He’s been trying his best to avoid Seonghwa as much as possible during regular office hours now that they spend hours together at the bar multiple nights a week (it’s a little bit easier on San’s heart that way) but it’s not always possible. Especially not when Seonghwa seeks him out like this.

“Yeah?” he asks, trying to ignore the way that the light coming in from the window reflects on Seonghwa’s hair in a way that makes him look like he’s got a halo. 

Two years later, and Seonghwa still reminds San of an angel brought down from the heavens. Except maybe not, because he doesn’t recall any stories about angels being sent down solely to torture someone like Seonghwa’s existence does to San some days.

“Wooyoung mentioned to me earlier that your car is in the shop and that he gave you a ride to work today,” Seonghwa frowns. “But you’re working at the bar tonight still?”

San shrugs. “Yeah. I don’t want to give them any reason to get rid of me right now, so I don’t want to call in. I figured I’d either call an Uber or walk home, since I don’t live that far away.”

“How long of a walk is it?” Seonghwa asks, still frowning.

“Um.” San pauses. He’s never actually walked from his apartment to the bar before, or vice versa, so it takes him a moment. “Forty minutes, probably? Maybe a little less? It’s like a seven minute drive at night when there’s no traffic.”

Seonghwa sucks in a breath. “Yeah, no. I’ll drive you home tonight.” 

His tone leaves no room for argument, but San can’t let this happen without a fight. Seonghwa sitting across the bar from him for hours is bad enough; he can’t imagine being in such close quarters as a fucking car with him afterwards, even if it would only be for a really short time. “You don’t have to. Seriously. I’d be fine walking, or I could take an Uber if you’re that concerned. I was considering it anyway, depending on how tired I am tonight.”

“San. No,” Seonghwa insists. “I know that we’re not actually dating, but I would never let my partner walk home alone in the middle of the night. I’m sure whoever’s managing the bar tonight would also find it very weird that I let you do that.”

“If they ask I’ll tell them I insisted,” San protests, even though he knows that it’s a weak argument. 

“San, I sit at the bar every night for four hours. No one would believe that you wouldn’t let me drive you home after that,” Seonghwa tells him, softer than this situation deserves. “So I’m taking you home tonight.”

San has literally had dreams about Seonghwa saying something like _I’m taking you home tonight_. For it to be said in this context stings. Stings a lot, really. But he knows that Seonghwa’s right, so he relents. “Fine. You can take me home tonight,” he says, hating the way the words feel heavy in his mouth.

San knows Seonghwa well enough to know this won’t be a one time thing, either; Seonghwa’s going to insist on driving him home every night now, whether to keep up appearances or so he can be sure that San’s safe at home each night. He’s not sure which. He’s also not sure it matters.

So much for trying to keep his distance outside of the four walls of the bar, San thinks bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/zero__miles) || [cc](https://curiouscat.me/zero__miles)


	5. thunder

“So how’s the carpooling thing going?” Hongjoong asks from where he’s sprawled out way too casually for the workplace environment in his normal chair in Seonghwa’s office. “San still refusing to talk to you on the ride back to his place?”

Seonghwa wrinkles his nose. “He’s always spoken to me.”

“Okay,” Hongjoong sighs, “is he saying anything besides  _ yes  _ or  _ no _ or answering anything you ask him in as few words as humanly possible yet? Or nah?”

“It’s been two weeks,” Seonghwa responds.

Hongjoong arches what is, in Seonghwa’s opinion, a much too judgmental eyebrow. “Oh, sorry, I thought you had something to add to that,” he says after a prolonged minute of silence. “Because that’s not a complete answer and you know it.”

Seonghwa scowls. He’s not sure why it bothers him so much that San is almost obstinately silent on the short trip back to his apartment each night, but it does. His mistake had been letting that fact slip to Hongjoong last week, who’s been acting like a dog with a bone and bugging Seonghwa about it every chance he gets. 

“I assume he’s pretty tired by that time, since he works almost a full shift here, still carrying out his normal responsibilities, and then goes and works a shift at the bar. You know that he’s been refusing to let Yunho shoulder a larger load of their other cases,” he adds, admiringly. Most people would have jumped at the chance to do less work. The fact that San didn’t says a lot about him as a person and his character, Seonghwa thinks.

“Hmm,” Hongjoong says, sounding a little strained. He’s got a strange look on his face, one Seonghwa couldn’t put into words if he  _ tried _ , and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him.

“Everything alright?” Seonghwa asks him.

Hongjoong clears his throat. “Peachy.”

“Then what was that look for?”

“What look?” Hongjoong says innocently. 

Seonghwa suppresses the urge to groan, knowing both that Hongjoong isn’t being honest and that he’s not going to get anything else out of the other man unless he  _ wants  _ to give it up. He’s pretty sure that Hongjoong could withstand literal, actual torture and still not reveal anything he didn’t want to reveal. Up against that, Seonghwa knows he’s powerless. “Trick of the light, I guess. Never mind,” he caves in, and pointedly ignores Hongjoong’s smirk. “Anyway, was there a reason why you came by? Or are you just taking advantage of my chairs being more comfortable than your desk chair again?”

Hongjoong sits up straight. “Actually, yeah. So you know how that I hopped on that conference call for you this morning.”

“Yes,” Seonghwa confirms, a sudden sense of dread washing over him.

“Yeah. Well, they had me stay on at the end to talk to me real quick so I could pass on a message for you. About the trafficking case,” Hongjoong continues, as if there’s any other cases their crew is working on right now that would have Washington’s specific attention like this. 

When Hongjoong stays silent too long, Seonghwa makes an impatient noise. “Drawing it out won’t make this better.”

Hongjoong huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees. “So they think that San and Yunho must have gotten a bad tip, if San hasn’t found anything to back it up in the six weeks or so that he’s been working there. I don’t agree with them,” he adds quickly (unnecessarily, in Seonghwa’s opinion), “but that’s what they said and that’s what they told me to tell you since you couldn’t make it on the call yourself this morning.”

The thing is, Seonghwa would be lying if he said he didn’t understand where the higher ups are coming from with this. The information they had to even begin the undercover mission was weak at best, and Seonghwa strongly suspects that it only got approved because San already had the job at the bar confirmed when the idea was first proposed. Well, that, and the fact that it was the first undercover mission authorization they’d ever gotten from Seonghwa ever since he became the head of the New Orleans field office more than three years ago. And even though undercover work often does drag out for months, sometimes even  _ years _ , there’s usually also enough new information coming in during even the early stages to prove that the mission is worth it.

At least, that’s how it had gone in Seonghwa’s admittedly very limited prior experience with undercover missions, anyway.

But yet, Seonghwa’s gut instincts are telling him that they’re on the right track, even though they technically haven’t gotten any other evidence to prove it. In his opinion, the lack of evidence is evidence itself. The bar, as far as Seonghwa can tell, is squeaky clean—well, squeaky clean minus the fact that they do pay San in cash at the end of his last shift of the week, much like San had predicted they would before his first day. While that alone wouldn’t be a cause for concern, as Seonghwa’s been told that’s not atypical for the hospitality industry, the fact that no other laws are even  _ bent _ is a red flag in Seonghwa’s book. It feels like the people running the bar are putting too much effort into ensuring every other law pertaining to them is followed to the letter, and Seonghwa would wonder what they were hiding even if he  _ didn’t  _ have a fairly credible tip that the bar is, you know, a front for a highly illegal weapons trafficking ring.

“Hwa?” Hongjoong asks, pulling Seonghwa out of his own head. “Still with me?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I was just...thinking, I guess.”

“About?”

“About how I understand why they think that, but I don’t agree. Not just because this is our case and I don’t want to admit we were wrong or anything like that, but also because it just doesn’t feel right. It feels like they’re hiding something.”

Hongjoong nods. “I trust your instincts more than I trust any suit in Washington’s instincts,” he says firmly. “I obviously haven’t been there myself to check it out, but if you think they’re hiding something then they’re definitely hiding something,” he adds, like everything is that simple.

Seonghwa laughs bitterly. “While I appreciate your support, none of that matters if Washington doesn’t believe what I tell them.”

“Is that sarcasm? Hongjoong asks, wrinkling his nose in what Seonghwa thinks is feigned distaste.

“No,” Seonghwa tells him, honestly. “I genuinely appreciate how much you all support me and my decisions.”

“Oh, god, I was kidding, please don’t get soft on me,” Hongjoong groans. “For real though, I really doubt they’d tell you to call it off tomorrow anyway. I bet they’d be willing to give you a couple more weeks no matter what, but since you’re you they’d probably be convinced to give you a longer rope than they’d give anyone else.”

“Alright,” Seonghwa says. “Well, I suppose I’ll wait for them to contact me about it. I feel like they just wanted the message passed along at this point, as a warning or whatever. If they actually wanted to talk to me about it, they would have done so.”

“Yeah, agreed,” Hongjoong nods, stretching his arms out above his head. “Now that I’ve passed that on, though, wanna go out for lunch today? We can pretend we had this conversation over lunch and expense it as a business meeting or something,” he grins, mirth dancing in his eyes.

Seonghwa can’t help but laugh. “I  _ suppose _ ,” he answers, logging out of his user account on his laptop even as he says it. “I could use the break.”

* * *

One of the few things Seonghwa has learned ever since he started showing up at the bar multiple nights a week is that Tuesdays are the slowest nights. Before this, he would have assumed it was Monday since that’s the first night of the work week, or maybe Wednesday since it’s the middle of the week, but nope. It’s Tuesday.

Or at least, it’s normally Tuesday. This Tuesday, however, is a different story.

When Seonghwa walks in twenty minutes after the start of San’s shift like usual, the bar is busier than he’s ever seen it. Seonghwa’s usual spot at the far corner of the bartop is taken—actually, he realizes, every single seat at the bartop is taken tonight. Even a lot of the tables are full, and the shorter man that had assumed that Seonghwa and San were dating last month is behind the bar helping San make and serve drinks.

San shrugs helplessly when he makes eye contact with Seonghwa, grimacing a little. Seonghwa shrugs back, then scans the room to figure out which empty table is closest to his usual spot. It’s a little unsettling for the bar to be this busy when it’s literally almost never busy at all, if Seonghwa’s being honest with himself, but there’s a chance that maybe something’s going on that he’s not aware of. He’s not usually all that up to date on local events, minus the big things like, you know, Mardi Gras or spring break (and that’s only because those events usually bring a notable uptick in things the local police department feels the need to call them in for).

San appears at the table Seonghwa picks out after about fifteen minutes, settling a glass of Seonghwa’s usual wine down in front of him. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“Why are you apologizing?” Seonghwa whispers back, frowning. There’s literally nothing here that San has to apologize for; it’s not like he invited this massive crowd of people here just to fuck with Seonghwa or anything like that.

“I don’t know,” San huffs, and Seonghwa grins a little even as San leans in closer to him to whisper directly into his ear. “I also don’t know what’s going on either, and I did ask Changkyun when I got here. He just said that there must be a conference at one of the hotels nearby and all the attendees decided to come here after it was over with, but I get the feeling he was lying to me,” San rushes out, eyes darting around the room wildly. Luckily, the other man behind the bar—Changkyun, apparently, Seonghwa needs to make a point of remembering that—isn’t paying attention to them, because San’s current behavior would look suspicious as hell to any trained eye. Even untrained ones, really, because San is truly acting shady as hell right now.

“Okay,” Seonghwa hisses. “Just keep your eyes open, and I’ll do the same. Okay?”

San nods. “Okay,” he agrees, then leans in even  _ closer  _ until his lips brush against the curve of Seonghwa’s cheekbone. Only years of experience in the law enforcement realm keeps Seonghwa from visibly startling at the touch, but it’s a close call. “Changkyun’s looking at us,” he explains, licking his lips nervously.

“Okay,” Seonghwa says, feeling like they’re starting to sound like a couple of broken records echoing each other. “You should get back to work, then.”

“Yeah,” San says, lingering a moment longer. He seems almost hesitant to leave for some reason, but shakes his head after a moment and trots back over to the bar without another word.

Maybe it’s because Seonghwa’s still thrown off by San kissing him—no, not kissing him, by San making it look like he was kissing him to anyone who was watching them and making incidental contact in the process, Seonghwa corrects himself—but he’s definitely not as aware of his surroundings as he usually is tonight. That’s probably why he’s unfortunately clearly caught off guard by a rather large man sitting down at the table across from him, much to the man’s obvious amusement.

“Hello,” the man says, clenching and unclenching his fists over and over again against the table between them. Seonghwa has no doubt it’s on purpose; it’s clearly an intimidation technique, and it’s almost working. The man’s arms are  _ huge _ , but more notably, his eyes are as cold as ice.

“Hello,” Seonghwa replies, neutrally as possible. He maintains eye contact with the man, refusing to back down. He’s never backed down from a potential threat before, and he’s sure as hell not about to start now.

After a long moment, the man leans back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head (Seonghwa’s almost surprised he doesn’t go as far as to prop his feet up on the table while he’s at it). “So you’re still here, huh,” he says.

Seonghwa blinks at him. “Sorry?”

“You’re still here. Following him like a lost puppy,” the man elaborates, tipping his head in the direction of the bar. “My employees had mentioned that, but I had believed you’d cut it out after a while,” he continues, a weird pause in the middle of his words that Seonghwa can’t help but notice.

“I wouldn’t say I’m following him like a lost puppy,” Seonghwa retorts.

“Well, I just did,” the man snorts. “What’s wrong? Do you not trust him? Think he’s going to fuck the first pretty face he sees behind your back if you let him out into the world on his own?”

Seonghwa’s sure that the disbelief he’s feeling shows on his face. While San’s not his actual boyfriend, the thought that he  _ would  _ treat any partner of his like that is outrageous to him. “Absolutely not,” Seonghwa says, sharp. “I just worry about him, you know? This part of town isn’t nearly as dangerous as it used to be, but it’s still not totally safe and he’s very pretty and very small,” he continues, knowing even as he says it that San would kick his ass over to Houston if he knew Seonghwa was talking about him like this. 

Bizarrely, the other man  _ smiles _ . “He’s safe here. You needn’t worry about that. Nothing will happen to him while he’s under our prote—under our employ,” he corrects himself, but Seonghwa notices the slip of the tongue despite how quickly and smoothly the man had covered it up.

“I know,” Seonghwa sighs, a little dramatically, trying his best to sound put-upon. “But I can’t help but worry about him still, no matter how much I try to tell myself he’s safe while working. If I was at home, I’d just lay awake at night worrying about him, so instead I’m worrying about him here.”

That part isn’t even a lie, which is good, because Seonghwa gets the feeling that this man could see right through him if he really wanted to.

“Well, I’m not telling you to stop coming,” the man drawls, “if that’s what you really want to do. It’s kind of sweet. I’m just telling you that he is safe here, if there is ever a time that you’re not able to come with here with him for whatever reason.”

It’s a statement that should be reassuring, really, but something about the phrasing makes the hair on the back of Seonghwa’s hair stand up. He’s no stranger to being threatened, and that felt awfully like a rather thinly veiled one. Before he can react, though, the man holds out his left hand to shake, turning his arm in a way that exposes the small tattoo on the edge of his wrist. It’s obvious that he wants Seonghwa to see it, and he smirks when Seonghwa’s eyes snap back up to his. 

Just like that, Seonghwa knows.

* * *

“What the fuck,” San grumbles, shaking out his wet hair like a dog and sending droplets of water flying through the interior of Seonghwa’s car. “It wasn’t supposed to rain today. Why the fuck does it always start raining whenever I leave this place?”

“This is maybe the third time it’s been raining when we’ve left here, and we live in a city where it rains a lot anyway,” Seonghwa says weakly. San gives him a sharp look, clearly knowing that something’s gotten under Seonghwa’s skin.

“What’s wrong?” he demands.

“Nothing,” Seonghwa says. “Well, actually, I’m kind of worried because it looks like the streets are flooding, but besides that, nothing at all!” 

San snorts, and Seonghwa knows that he’d laid it on a little too thick and there’s no way San doesn’t know he’s lying. “Sure,” he placates. “Except that I really hope you’re wrong about the streets flooding, because I swear to God the one I live off of is the first one to flood in the entire city each time it rains.”

By the time they make it two blocks south of the bar, it’s clear that Seonghwa hadn’t been wrong; the streets  _ are  _ flooding, enough so that Seonghwa’s even a little concerned about making it back to his own apartment building, let alone San’s ten minutes in the opposite direction.

“There’s no way we’re making it to my place,” San groans, voicing Seonghwa’s own thoughts. “You can take me to Wooyoung’s, I guess. Do you remember where he lives?”

The rain’s coming down so hard that Seonghwa can barely see the traffic lights through his windshield. At this point, he’s not sure he remembers the way back to his own apartment, let alone Wooyoung’s apartment. Seonghwa knows that what he’s about to say next is going to start an argument, but at this point, he genuinely feels like he doesn’t have a choice.

“I think you’re going to have to spend the night at my place. I have a guest bedroom though, don’t worry. Even if I didn’t, though, I wouldn’t make you sleep on the couch,” he rambles as the light turns green, hoping that if he talks long enough San will accept it without a fight.

He’s wrong, of course, but Seonghwa knew he would be. “No.”

“San,” Seonghwa says flatly, slipping into the tone of voice he generally saves for the most serious lectures in his office, “there’s no other option. I know that you don’t want to be around me more than you have to right now, and I get it, because I’m not always good company and you have to deal with me much more than you probably should due to this mission, but seriously. There’s no other option,” he repeats.

“Even going back to my apartment, five minutes from here, is probably putting both of our lives in danger. If I drove to your apartment, or to Wooyoung’s apartment, before going back to mine, that triples the amount of time I have to spend on the road when I can barely see ten feet in front of me right now. So you’re going to have to deal with me a little longer,” he finishes, gritting his teeth together.

“Sorry.” San’s voice sounds small, and Seonghwa instantly feels awful.

“No, I’m sorry. That was probably a little unwarranted. I’ve had a bad night and this is making it worse and I just took it out on you.”

“You didn’t,” San says quickly. “I probably deserved that. You’re right, these are pretty dangerous driving conditions. And about the rest—”

“Don’t,” Seonghwa pleads.

Surprisingly, San nods and falls silent.

Thankfully, the lack of traffic on the roads means that Seonghwa manages to get back to his apartment complex in ten minutes, and he breathes a sigh of relief once he puts his car in park. “Thank God I have covered parking,” he mutters to himself, and he thinks he hears San laugh. Maybe. The rain pounding down on the steel awning overhead might be playing tricks on his ears.

Once they’re safely inside Seonghwa’s apartment, he all but drags San to the bathroom. “Shower,” he demands.

“I don’t have anything to change into,” San yelps.

“I have something you can wear, I’m sure. I’ll leave it outside the bathroom,” Seonghwa tells him. “But you smell like alcohol and I know you don’t want that lingering on your skin when you’re trying to sleep.” 

San frowns. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. Shower,” Seonghwa repeats, “and I’ll leave clean pajamas for you outside the door before I make up the guest bed. Please,” he adds, not wanting to drag this out any longer than he has to. The sooner he gets the guest bed ready, the sooner he can crawl into bed and bring this awful day to an end.

But either San showers more quickly than Seonghwa expected, or he takes longer than normal to make up the bed (the second one’s probably closer to the truth, Seonghwa thinks), because he’s hit with the scent of his own shower gel a second before he hears San clear his throat behind him. Seonghwa almost drops the pillow he’d been wrestling into a pillowcase, but catches it against his thigh at the last moment.

“Yeah?” he asks, turning around. San’s hair is damp, curling around his ears, and the shirt that Seonghwa had lent him practically engulfs his smaller frame. For some reason, the sight makes his stomach twist, and it’s not helped by the scent of Seonghwa’s shower gel filling up the small room either.

Jesus, he’d never realized how strong it is before right this second. Maybe it’s true that you can’t smell your own scent as strongly as other people can smell it? Seonghwa thinks wildly, feeling his heart kick up in his chest.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” San says worriedly, putting his hand on Seonghwa’s forearm. “I just wanted to ask where I could leave my gun overnight, but that’s not really important. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa says, refusing to look San in the eyes.

San makes a dismissive noise. “Yeah, no,” he says, sitting down on the bed and tugging Seonghwa down next to him. “Okay. This is what I know: at some point, a guy I’ve never seen before came out of the kitchen at the bar and went to talk to you. After he left, you looked rattled, and you’ve been visibly shaken ever since and I don’t think it was just because of the storm. What the fuck is going  _ on _ ?” he questions.

Seonghwa closes his eyes. This isn’t just about him, he tells himself. If anything, San’s the one in potential danger here, not Seonghwa himself. So even though he had wanted to wait until tomorrow to talk about it, right now’s as good a time as any, he reasons.

“He wanted to talk to me,” Seonghwa starts. “He seems to be a part owner of the bar, I guess, he talked about you being his employee.”

“That was kind of obvious since he came out of the back,” San points out, but it’s gentle, none of the snark or sarcasm that would normally accompany a statement like that from San.

“Yeah. Well. I didn’t see where he came from, I just saw him sit down across from me,” Seonghwa tells him. “He asked why I was there, said some crude things about you—”

“Such as?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “Not important. Trust me, San, you know I would tell you if it was. Anyway,” he continues when San seems to decide to let it go, “he said something about you being under their protection since you work there, and then he threatened me. I wasn’t sure if it was actually a threat at first, but yeah, no, it definitely was. I know that for sure now.”

San sucks in a sharp breath. “Seonghwa,” he says. “I’m under their  _ protection _ ? What—”

“And then he held out his hand for me to shake, showing off his wrist, and wouldn’t you know that he had a little tattoo on the edge of it,” Seonghwa continues dully. “It took me a minute, but then I realized I’d seen that tattoo before. On the wrist of the Son family associate that Jongho and Yeosang took down as collateral damage in that prostituion sting last summer, remember?”

“Are you sure?” San asks, voice wavering a little.

“One hundred percent,” Seonghwa sighs. “It’s the mob. It’s the fucking mob. I should have known this was way too sophisticated of an operation to be anything else,” he says resentfully, letting some of the fear he feels color his voice. He’s too tired to keep pretending he’s not more than a little terrified, knowing that San—well, he and San, really, but  _ San _ —had gotten himself directly involved with the fucking mob without even realizing it. “Not only that, but I’m dead certain that it’s a high ranking member who talked to me tonight. Inner circle for sure. He was too cocky not to be.”

San laughs humorlessly. “Well. I guess we’re kinda fucked here, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (quick note: although I did change the chapter count to 10, there is a chance it might only be 9. we will see!)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/zero__miles) || [cc](https://curiouscat.me/zero__miles)


	6. revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up: this gets a bit dark at the end. nothing graphic, on-screen or off-screen, BUT if there's a tag or a warning you think I missed please let me know!

The next morning, Seonghwa takes San back to his own apartment just before seven, giving the other man plenty of time to get ready to come into the office. He then goes back home just long enough to change into something pushing the boundaries of ‘business casual’ before heading into the office himself.

Seonghwa even manages to arrive before Yunho, usually the first person in each morning, and locks his office door behind him even though he really doesn’t need to—no one’s expecting him until ten-thirty, like normal on the days after a night spent at the bar, and his office door is usually closed when he’s not in anyway. This is just an added layer of security, Seonghwa thinks; he doubts he’d be disturbed anyway, but this extra step of precaution ensures he won’t be.

Not surprisingly, Seonghwa loses track of time, buried in his project. He only realizes that it’s past time for him to be here when his phone rings at a quarter to eleven. He’d turned it on ‘do not disturb’ earlier, so the fact that it’s even ringing means that the person trying to call him—Hongjoong, he realizes, of course it’s Hongjoong—must have already called him once in the last five minutes and had the call go straight to voicemail.

“Are you not coming in today?” Hongjoong demands immediately when Seonghwa answers his phone, not even letting him get a word in edgewise. “San’s here and he’s flipping out and is threatening to go to your apartment and drag you in—how does he know where you live? I don’t even know where you live!”

“Please calm down,” Seonghwa says, saving the file he’d finished editing just two minutes ago (thankfully, because Seonghwa doubts he’d be able to finish it after this). “I’m already here,” he continues, and closes his eyes and prays for patience when he hears the handle of his door rattle furiously almost immediately.

Someone—Hongjoong, Seonghwa tells himself, Hongjoong—knocks on the door next. “How long have you been here?” he asks, and Seonghwa hears it through both the door and the phone pressed against his ear.

Rolling his eyes, Seonghwa hangs up the phone. “Give me a minute!” he shouts, transferring the file he’d just saved onto a flash drive. He can hear Hongjoong making huffy, impatient noises from the other side of the door as he logs off of his laptop; sure enough, Hongjoong is literally standing right outside his door, tapping his fucking foot against the ground, when Seonghwa opens the door.

“When did you get here?” Hongjoong questions again.

“At like seven-thirty?” Seonghwa shrugs. “Something like that. Is everyone here right now?” As far as he’s aware, everyone  _ should  _ be here today. But in a field like theirs, new evidence could lead to even the best laid plans changing in a heartbeat. When Hongjoong nods, Seonghwa claps his hands. “Great! Tell everyone to meet me in the conference room in fifteen minutes.”

Hongjoong’s jaw drops, just a little. “What? Why?”

“You’ll find out in fifteen minutes,” Seonghwa tells him, flipping the flash drive in his hand over and over again. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit anxious about this entire situation, but if nothing else, he knows this team of people is more than capable of handling anything that’s thrown at them.

Hongjoong stares at him for a moment before shaking his head, apparently realizing that Seonghwa really isn’t going to give him any more information before the meeting starts. “Fine,” he says, smiling wryly. “We’ll all be in the conference room in fifteen minutes, then. You better have an explanation then, though.”

Five minutes before everyone’s due in the conference room though, San slips in, closing the door behind him. Seonghwa wishes he could say he’s surprised, but he’s not. He’s so unsurprised by this that he doesn’t even bother looking up from the computer station in the room when he says, “San.”

“Seonghwa,” San acknowledges, sitting down in one of the chairs at the far end of the table. “I thought we agreed that neither of us would come in before ten-thirty on days after we were at the bar...you’d have my head on a goddamned platter if I had come in early,” he points out. His tone sounds casual, but Seonghwa can hear the thread of irritation running through it. 

“I know,” Seonghwa sighs. “Extenuating circumstances, though. We need to update everyone on the new developments, we need to do it as soon as possible, and I wouldn’t have had time to prepare had I waited until ten-thirty to come in. Forgive me?” he asks, finally looking up from the computer station to smile sheepishly in San’s direction.

Confusingly, an expression that looks something like  _ hurt  _ flashes across San’s face for the briefest of moments before he suddenly smiles back at Seonghwa. “Of course,” San answers, and to Seonghwa’s ears he sounds the tiniest bit strained. He drops his gaze down to the table immediately afterwards and mumbles something to himself that Seonghwa can’t hear.

Seonghwa figures he probably wasn’t meant to hear it, anyway.

Wooyoung comes in next, sitting beside San. That’s not surprising. Yeosang sits down on San’s other side when he comes in, which  _ is _ a little surprising—Yeosang usually sits as close to the head of the table as he can, since he says it’s easier for him to stay focused that way—but Seonghwa figures that nothing is really ‘normal’ anymore anyway, so it makes sense that even this is different. 

Once everyone’s filed in, Seonghwa stands up. He doesn’t think he could sit down for this; he’s got way too much nervous energy running through him at the moment. “First things first,” he starts. “Does anyone have a case they’re working on that they could close within the next forty-eight hours?”

“What?” San asks incredulously. Seonghwa shakes his head, holding up a finger to ask for a minute. San audibly huffs, but he remains silent.

“Anyone?” Seonghwa asks again. When no one says anything, Seonghwa nods firmly. “Okay. Good. They’re all on the backburner now. San and I learned something last night that made me decide that we all need to turn our attention to the weapons trafficking case.”

“Shouldn’t I have been informed of this first?” Yunho asks, sounding a little insulted. Which does make sense, Seonghwa thinks. This  _ is _ his case, was his case long before San or even Seonghwa himself got involved.

“Honestly, Yunho, in normal circumstances you would have been. But I didn’t want to go through this twice, or delay any longer in telling you all about this. I’m sorry,” he adds, earnestly. It’s the second time today Seonghwa has had to offer something like an apology to one of his subordinates, and he hates it. This entire situation with the mob has got him rattled, sure, but that’s no reason to be essentially disrespecting his team in this way.

Yunho grimaces, but he awards Seonghwa more grace than he probably deserves right now when he says, “I get it. It just caught me by surprise, I suppose.”

“What could be so bad that we all need to focus on this?” Yeosang asks. “I can only think of two things—either a domestic terrorism cell or the mob, and I can’t imagine that it’s either one of those things,” he continues.

Seonghwa doesn’t answer.

Neither does San, although that could be because he’s letting Seonghwa take the lead here (as it should be; Seonghwa  _ is  _ the boss here. It’s his responsibility to be in control of meetings like this one).

“Right?” Yeosang adds, laughing nervously.

“Wrong,” Seonghwa sighs, reaching down to pick up the remote to the projector screen off the table. “Your first guess is wrong, but the second…” he trails off, turning his back on his team to turn the projector on. Even with his back turned, though, he can  _ feel  _ how everyone in the room goes still.

“Are you certain?” Hongjoong asks, sounding a little  _ too  _ calm for the situation.

Seonghwa turns back to the table as the projector whirs to life. “Yes, I’m certain. One thousand percent so,” he sighs. “I saw the tattoo.”

“Oh, fuck,” someone breathes out. Seonghwa’s not sure who. It’s not like it matters, anyway.

“That’s what I said when I found out,” San replies. 

“You saw the tattoo? Not San?” Yunho asks. Seonghwa nods. “How?”

Laughing bitterly, Seonghwa says, “I couldn’t miss it. He practically showed it off after he finished threatening me.”

Hongjoong’s eyes go wide. “Maybe you should start from the beginning. And sit down, you’re making me nervous,” he chides.

Seonghwa doesn’t  _ want  _ to sit down, but he supposes that Hongjoong has a point. So he sits on the very edge of his chair and explains just what, exactly, had gone down the night before, toying with the remote still in his hand as a way to keep himself centered. If anyone notices that he’s not quite as collected as he normally is, they don’t comment. For that, Seonghwa is grateful.

Not surprisingly, Mingi’s the first one to speak when Seonghwa finishes his story. “What the fuck?” he asks. “Yunho and I worked this case for seven fucking months. We never saw any sign whatsoever that the mob could even be involved, let alone be the ones running this shit.”

“I know. I know,” Seonghwa answers. “I didn’t either, and I was keeping a close eye on your reports throughout the entire investigation. Do you really think I would have let San go in undercover if I’d thought the mob was involved?”

“I wouldn’t say you  _ let  _ him go undercover,” Wooyoung remarks, snide, and something about the expression on his face when he says it gets under Seonghwa’s skin and settles there.

It’s probably why he snaps, just a little. “Do you really think I didn’t have the ability to keep him from going undercover if I’d really, really wanted to?” Seonghwa demands. “Because trust me, if I had pushed back enough, I could have gotten Washington to agree with me that it was a bad move, and you can be damn sure that I would have done just that had we known it was the goddamned  _ mob  _ we were dealing with here.”

“Okay,” Wooyoung says easily, leaning back in his chair and smiling a little. His reaction makes no sense to Seonghwa, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

Seonghwa sighs, giving himself a moment to shake off his irritation. “Any other comments?” he asks, a bit more sarcastic than he intended. No one answers; either there’s genuinely no pressing questions, or no one wants to push Seonghwa’s buttons right now. Whatever the reason, Seonghwa’s fine with it. “Okay, good. In that case, I made a powerpoint to kind of give you all a refresher course of what and  _ who  _ we’re dealing with here.”

The thing with dealing with the mob is that a lot of its members have been in and out of the criminal system at some point or another. It’s rare that they’re able to get someone sent away for a truly considerable amount of time, whether it be due to genuinely weak evidence or, you know, a witness magically disappearing or the charges being dropped with no explanation (although that hasn’t happened since the parish elected a new district attorney eighteen months ago, thank god), but Seonghwa was able to find criminal records and mugshots for many members quite easily.

Nothing on either Changkyun or the tall man who originally hired San, of course, but Seonghwa knows that was deliberate. Even if it is odd that they’re so heavily involved with the trafficking when there’s no evidence of either of them being linked to even minor criminal activities before, you know, Seonghwa seeing it with his own eyes, but Seonghwa knows enough about how mobs tend to work to know that there’s not always a defined hierarchy. New members can rise up in the ranks in a hurry depending on who takes a shine to them.

In the interest of time, Seonghwa hadn’t bothered including some of the lower level flunkies in his presentation; he’s fairly certain that with an operation that’s both this sophisticated and this important, there are probably members of the mob who don’t even know that this scheme even exists.

For the most part, Seonghwa’s team watches the presentation silently; a couple even take notes, which Seonghwa appreciates. Not San, but like—San’s in the middle of this entire mess. Him not taking notes is excusable in Seonghwa’s eyes. 

The silence is finally broken when Seonghwa flips to one of the last slides, one that has two mugshots on it. 

“Wait,” San says, looking up at Seonghwa with wide eyes. “I know both of them.”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa nods. “You do.” One of them is the man who had threatened Seonghwa last night, so that’s no real surprise. The other, though, is a man that he’s seen pop in and out of the bar at random times that had always looked vaguely familiar to him. He’d never been able to figure out  _ why _ , though, and having that knowledge now makes him feel a little sick to his stomach. If Seonghwa hadn’t been certain the mob was involved after last night, then he damn sure would have been after this morning.

San grins wryly. “No offense, Hwa, but I’d been kind of hoping you were horribly mistaken about this whole thing. Guess there’s no chance of that now though, huh?”

“Yeah, no,” Seonghwa agrees, laughing bitterly. “Listen, San. If you want to back out, it’s fine. I know this is suddenly a lot more dangerous than you ever signed up for—”

“Are you kidding me? No,” San yelps, so quickly and so loudly that it takes Seonghwa off guard. Admittedly, he’d been pretty sure that San would want to stay undercover, but he wasn’t expecting quite this level of...enthusiasm, Seonghwa supposes.

“Okay,” Seonghwa acknowledges, not really sure what else to say.

“I just mean that, with this break, we’re really close, right? To solving this? And we couldn’t send anyone else in, either, if I left, because that would make it really, really, obvious,” San says quickly.

Seonghwa points at him with the hand still holding the projector remote. “Right,” he agrees. “But seriously, your safety is still my utmost priority. Alright?”

“Alright,” San says, shifting in his seat so he’s sitting up ramrod straight. The action reminds Seonghwa that they have an audience, and he suddenly feels awkward; this probably was a conversation they should have had in private, but it’s much too late to correct that now considering the conversation is already  _ over _ .

“Right,” Seonghwa repeats. “Well. I just have one slide left. As far as we know here at the bureau and all of the other law enforcement agencies in and around this city know, these last two men are likely the head of the mob and one of his right hand men. Signs point to there being two of them—two right hand men instead of just one—but we have nothing on this potential second person. He’s kind of like a ghost. Well, if ghosts murdered people and perpetrated all other kinds of criminal acts,” Seonghwa continues disdainfully.

“Hwa,” Hongjoong interrupts gently. “Show us the slide.”

Seonghwa swallows down the rest of what he wanted to say and nods before flipping to the last slide. Unlike the previous slide, where he knew San would recognize both men, he’s not expecting any kind of a reaction to this one.

He’s wrong.

Jongho drops the bottle of water he’d been taking a drink out of, spilling water all over himself and the conference table. “No,” he sputters.

“Jongho?” Seonghwa asks worriedly.

Jongho gestures towards the right hand side of the projector screen, where the face of the man Seonghwa believes is one of the two right hand men is. “Him?” he asks, voice shaky.

Seonghwa nods. “Yes. We might be wrong about how high up in the organization he is, but he’s one hundred percent involved,” he says slowly. 

“I know him,” Jongho says, face paling. “He started going to my gym back around Halloween, and we’re usually there around the same time so we work out together a lot. He’s given me a lot of tips.”

Seonghwa exchanges a look with Hongjoong, who looks just as horrified as he feels. “Halloween?” Seonghwa asks.

Jongho nods. “Yeah. The first time he approached me was the day after Mingi’s Halloween party. I remember because I still had paint on my face, apparently, because that was the first thing he mentioned.”

“Jongho,” Hongjoong says, gently enough that Seonghwa’s pretty sure that they’re on the same page here, “do you remember that prostitution ring you and Sang brought down last year?”

Yeah, they’re on the same page, Seonghwa thinks. He feels sick to his stomach as he watches realization dawn on Jongho’s face.

“The one where we locked up a mob member and then I testified at his trial so Sangie wouldn’t have to?” Jongho asks, voice steadier than Seonghwa would have expected. Jongho’s always been brave beyond measure, though, so it’s not really a surprise.

Seonghwa laughs bitterly. “That’s the one.”

Yunho sucks in a sharp breath. “Isn’t that kind of a big leap to make?” he asks dubiously. “It could just be a coincidence.”

“I stopped believing in coincidences my second day on the job,” Yeosang says.

“Same,” Hongjoong agrees, and Seonghwa nods. He’d been about to say something similar to what Yeosang just said himself.

“I mean, I guess there’s a chance that it’s a coincidence he started coming to the same gym as me,” Jongho says, “but if he’s high up in the mob, and I testified against one of his guys weeks before he started talking to me, there’s no way he didn’t know that.”

“Has he ever asked you what you do for a living, anything like that?” Seonghwa wonders out loud.

Jongho frowns, clearly deep in thought. “Not exactly,” he says slowly. “But he did tell me once that if I ever got disillusioned with work, I should talk to him.”

The phrasing sets off alarm bells in Seonghwa’s head, and judging by the expressions around the table he’s not the only one. “Okay, yeah, he knows what you do,” Seonghwa says flatly.

Somehow, Jongho just shrugs it off. “That’s a risk I knew I was taking when I said I’d testify.”

“We’re still not calling this off, are we?” San asks, the first thing he’s said since Seonghwa switched slides several minutes ago.

Seonghwa sighs. Part of him thinks that he should; the mob is closer to them than they’d ever known. But on the other hand, the mob has been this close to them the  _ entire time _ .

“No, we’re not.”

Everyone seems to have an opinion about that, as the room explodes with noise. Everyone’s trying to talk over each other, leading to a cacophony of noise that Seonghwa has no chance of understanding. He brings his hand to his lips and whistles sharply, catching everyone’s attention.

“Was that necessary?” Wooyoung asks, wincing.

“Yes,” Seonghwa says primly. “Guys, listen. You want me to call the undercover operation off now because we know that the mob is trying to get close to Jongho, yeah? Well, the mob has been trying to get close to Jongho for the better part of a fucking year now. So that doesn’t change things, not really. More importantly, they don’t have any clue who San or I are.”

“Didn’t you just tell us that they threatened you last night?” Yunho asks.

Seonghwa nods. “Yeah. That’s how I know. If they knew I was in charge here, they wouldn’t have bothered to threaten me.”

Hongjoong nods. “You’d be dead,” he says bluntly. “San would be too. The mob doesn’t give warnings. Especially not to cops.”

“Exactly. They don’t trust me, but they don’t know who I am,” Seonghwa says confidently. “They also  _ do  _ trust San. Or they care about him. Maybe both.”

San wrinkles his nose. “You think so? Really?”

“Yeah, no, Seonghwa’s right,” Mingi cuts in. “San. Dude. A gangster threatened the guy he thinks is your boyfriend because he thinks your boyfriend is suspicious. Of course they trust you.”

Mingi’s right on the money, in Seonghwa’s opinion. “What we are going to do, though, is plant some bugs in the bar and maybe in the kitchen as well. San, do you know of any inconspicuous places we could hide them?”

San furrows his brow. “I know of one for sure off the top of my head, but I can probably think of a few more from there. Just give me a day or two,” he replies, and Seonghwa nods.

“That works. I’ll apply for authorization for them today, but take your time. And before anyone says anything, we’re doing the rest of this investigation one hundred percent by the book,” Seonghwa continues. “I’m not having any evidence thrown out because we bent the rules and obtained it illegally. We’re better than that,” he says firmly. He doesn’t actually think that anyone would intentionally break the rules, but it’s better to make sure everyone is taking extra precautions to ensure they  _ follow  _ them for once.

Yeosang and Mingi exchange a look. “We?” Yeosang eventually asks.

Seonghwa drums his fingertips against the table. “Yep,  _ we _ . I was originally going to say that the rest of you should drop by the bar at some point, see if you notice anything unusual that San or I might miss due to proximity, but I’m amending that to everyone but Jongho. No offense, but you need to stay far, far away from there right now,” he says, turning towards Jongho apologetically.

Jongho’s eyes widen. “No, yeah, you’re right. As long as there’s some other way for me to help out, though?” he asks.

“There will be,” Seonghwa assures him. “We’re all in this together. The eight of us are one team now, at least for this investigation.”

* * *

“So I found three places for us to put bugs,” San tells Seonghwa excitedly two nights later as Seonghwa starts his car.

Seonghwa hums. “Three is good.” He’d applied for five bugs, just to be on the safe side, but three is good. Better than he’d been expecting, honestly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seonghwa sees San’s shoulders slump, just a fraction. “Is everything alright?” he asks concernedly as he begins to navigate out of the parking lot.

San’s silent just long enough that Seonghwa begins to genuinely worry. “Why do you hate undercover work so much?” he eventually asks.

It’s not what Seonghwa’s expecting him to say (although if he’s being totally honest with himself, he’s surprised no one has asked him this outright before right now), and it catches him off guard. “What? Wait, no, that was a rhetorical question,” he says quickly, when San begins to repeat the question.

“You don’t have to answer. I was thinking out loud mostly,” San tries to tell him.

Seonghwa shakes his head. It’s not something he likes to talk about, but he thinks he can tell San about this. San deserves Seonghwa’s honesty if nothing else. “This is actually my second experience ever with undercover work,” he begins.

San sucks in a harsh breath. “Oh no,” he gasps, just loud enough for Seonghwa to hear him. Seonghwa isn’t offended, though—it’s not hard to see where this story is going, after all.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa sighs, keeping his eyes firmly on the road ahead of him. If he looks at San right now, he might lose his nerve and stop talking. “I’d been in Chicago for...six months or so? About that.”

“You worked on an undercover mission six months out of the academy?” San asks.

“No. I spent my first two and a half years in Atlanta, and then transferred to the Chicago office. Kind of like you transferring here after you had a few years under your belt,” Seonghwa points out.

“Okay, that makes more sense,” San says.

Seonghwa exhales slowly, more to give himself a bit more time than anything. Not that he really has much time left—they’re maybe five minutes from San’s apartment—but he needs it right now. “Yeah. So, I’d been in Chicago for six months when we had an extremely credible tip come through. It was basically an invitation to infiltrate a known cocaine trafficking operation really. Like, honestly, it was the kind of tip that if it hadn’t been acted on, everyone with knowledge of it could have been rightfully fired for not pursuing it, you know?”

“That’s part of the reason I wanted out of Portland,” San confesses. “We got a tip like that a few months before I left that was ignored. Washington was pissed, so they were clearing out the higher-ups because of it. I felt like if I was going to be getting almost a whole new set of co-workers, I might as well actually do that and transfer somewhere new.”

Seonghwa winces. He’d heard of a situation like that happening through the grapevine several years ago, but had no idea that San had had a front row seat to it. “Ouch,” he says, slowing to a stop at the red light three blocks away from San’s apartment. 

“Yeah, ouch,” San agrees. “I don’t regret it though.”

There’s a lot Seonghwa wants to ask, but it’s not his place. If San wants to talk about it, he will. Also, it would just be another way for Seonghwa to stall and he actually is running out of time now if he wants to finish this before sunrise (and dragging it out will only hurt him more in the end, anyway). “That’s good,” Seonghwa tells him, meaning it. He’d hate it if San regretted coming to New Orleans, regretted coming to him. “But yeah. Credible tip. Clear, obvious in with the cocaine dealers. And guess who gets tapped to be the one going in? The new guy, of course,” Seonghwa sighs.

“You didn’t,” San says, sounding—panicked?

“I didn’t, no,” Seonghwa replies, feeling the guilt that he still carries with him almost five years later bubble up in his throat like bile. “My partner back then was an absolutely amazing man. He had about ten years more experience than I did, but he never acted like he was above me or that my opinions or instincts didn’t matter when compared to his. And he saw that I was, quite frankly, terrified at the prospect of going under. I’m not a good actor. Never have been,” Seonghwa laughs bitterly, making the right hand turn onto San’s street. “So he offered to go in for me. He was told no at first, actually. Something about it being a rite of passage or some bullshit for me to have to do it. But he kept pushing, and eventually he got the green light to go in and leave me to deal with the rest of the investigation.”

“Seonghwa,” San starts. Seonghwa hates how soft his voice is. Like he’s trying to calm a scared child or a spooked animal or something. “You don’t have to finish telling me. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, I do,” Seonghwa insists. He’s gotten this far, and he knows that if he stops now it’ll continue to fester. It’s why he’s never really talked about this period in his life, and he’s really not sure why he chose to do so now. Maybe it’s because San’s the one who asked; he would have told anyone else, even Hongjoong, to fuck right off.

He does, however, wait until he’s parked the car in front of San’s apartment building to continue talking. “Anyway. Like I said, my partner went in instead. Much like our current case, the cocaine ring turned out to be a well disguised arm of the mob. And because that wasn’t bad enough, we found out about it whenever we got—we got—”

“Take your time,” San murmurs, reaching out to grab Seonghwa’s hand. Seonghwa lets him take it. He needs the grounding of a physical connection right now, even if he’s not sure how San was able to tell. 

Seonghwa takes a shuddery breath, feeling his body shake. “We found out it was the mob whenever we got a box delivered to the office with a DVD on top of it,” he says flatly. “I don’t know what was in the box. I can guess. I never asked. I asked not to be told. But I did have to watch the video, since it was technically my investigation. My higher-ups watched it with me, so I wasn’t alone, but…”

“But you still saw something no one should ever have to see,” San finishes for him. “Fuck, Seonghwa, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. If I had known…” he trails off.

Seonghwa shakes his head. “Don’t apologize,” he admonishes. “First of all, no one knows. You’re the first person who’s ever heard the full story besides my therapist. Joong only knows that I had a bad experience on a case before I left Chicago. Don’t spread this around either, please,” he adds reflexively.

“Never,” San promises him.

“Second, and I really hate to say this, but you were right from the start. This was a situation where the opportunity to have someone infiltrate the operation basically fell right into our laps, and if we—no, you— hadn’t taken the opportunity from the start, Washington likely would have pushed for it until we had no choice,” Seonghwa admits, turning to look at San directly for the first time since they’d left the bar. He’d been afraid that he’d see pity in San’s eyes, but instead San’s eyes hold nothing but sympathy. It’s enough for the churning in Seonghwa’s stomach to settle down, just a little bit.

“Still,” San insists. “This is literally deja-vu for you in the worst possible way, and it’s partially because of me.”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, San. Didn’t I just tell you it would have happened with or without you doing what you did? At least this way we had control over it from the start,” Seonghwa insists.

“Are you sure you’re okay with everything?” San presses.

Seonghwa shrugs. “It is what it is,” he says passively. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“This does make a lot of your behavior since this started make more sense,” San says contemplatively. “Hey, don’t leave yet, okay? I’ll be right back,” he adds, letting go of Seonghwa’s hand so he can clamber out of the car. 

Seonghwa misses the warmth of San’s hand against his immediately, but he’s exhausted, both physically and emotionally. And it’s late, nearly two AM at this point. That’s probably why, he thinks to himself bemusedly while he waits for San to return. He’s not totally sure why San asked him to wait, and less sure why he agreed, but since he did he’s stuck here.

Thankfully, San reappears in less than five minutes, backpack slung over his shoulder. “I figure you probably don’t want to be alone tonight with your memories,” he says nonchalantly as he slides back into Seonghwa’s passenger seat. “So I’m crashing on your couch, whether you like it or not.”

Seonghwa cracks a smile. “I’m not an animal. You can sleep in my guest room again,” he says, more relieved than he’ll ever admit. He hadn’t even thought about the consequences of revealing his previous experiences with mobsters to San, but San’s right—had Seonghwa been left alone in his apartment tonight, he likely wouldn’t have slept a wink. San being in the next room might be enough to keep the ghosts of his past at bay.

San grins. “I wasn’t gonna ask, but I appreciate it,” he says, buckling his seatbelt once again. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/zero__miles) || [cc](https://curiouscat.me/zero__miles)


	7. precipice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags are updated; please check before reading!

Wooyoung ambushes Seonghwa first thing the following Monday morning. Literally. Seonghwa doesn’t even make it to his office before Wooyoung corners him in the hallway.

“Hello,” he says, smirking.

“Hello,” Seonghwa says warily. He’s not sure what Wooyoung’s after, but he’s concerned that it’s probably going to be nothing good. “How are you today?” he asks politely.

“Small talk? Really?” Wooyoung snorts. “I’m hurt, I thought we were years past that point by now.”

Seonghwa resists the urge to huff impatiently. “It was either that or stand here silently while I waited for you to get to your point. I figured small talk would be less awkward for both of us.”

“Maybe I just wanted to catch up with you,” Wooyoung suggests.

“That would be small talk, wouldn’t it?” Seonghwa asks.

Wooyoung wrinkles his nose. “You got me there,” he huffs. “Ugh. Anyway, I did actually have a reason for coming to find you first thing today.”

“I figured,” Seonghwa says dryly.

The eyeroll Wooyoung gives him isn’t subtle at all, and it entertains Seonghwa maybe more than it should. “You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?” he asks. “I don’t—whatever.  _ Anyway _ ,” he repeats, “I have actual information for you. Yeosangie and I went to the bar on Saturday—”

Seonghwa does not yell at Wooyoung, but it’s a close call. “You took Yeosang there?” he demands. Yeosang might not have actually shown up in a courtroom where mob members were almost definitely present like Jongho did, but he  _ did  _ make the arrest and his name was definitely in the arrest report. It’s highly likely that the mob’s done some research on Yeosang over the past few months too. 

Wooyoung rolls his eyes  _ again _ . “Relax,” he tells Seonghwa. “He wore a wig and contacts and barely looked like himself, even to me. There was no chance anyone else would have recognized him. Not even you. Do you really think I’d let anything happen to him?  _ Really _ ?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Seonghwa admits. “I worry, though. You know I do, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung visibly relaxes, which is a little startling to Seonghwa simply because he hadn’t realized Wooyoung was that tense to begin with. “You do worry, I know. Can we stop getting sidetracked now so I can tell you what I came to tell you?”

Seonghwa waves a hand in the air. “Go ahead.”

“Okay. So. Yeosang and I went to the bar. We thought about sitting at the actual bar, but we decided that we would have more freedom if we sat at a table since we could actually talk to each other there,” Wooyoung starts. “At one point, we saw a guy who is definitely, absolutely a gang member—Yeosang recognized him and everything—come in and say something to the bartender…”

“And?” Seonghwa urges when Wooyoung trails off a little too long.

“The bartender disappeared for a few minutes, then came back with a box that we’re pretty sure had tequila in it once upon a time, and then cashed the dude out at the register like he was paying a tab or buying a case of beer or something,” Wooyoung finishes, grinning at what Seonghwa knows is a dumbfounded look on his own face.

If Wooyoung’s obvious guess is true, then the mob is almost flaunting their weapons dealing. Selling a ‘customer’ a case of tequila that actually contains guns? That’s not subtle at all, and Seonghwa would have laughed in someone’s face had they told him about something like that happening in real life as recently as last week. It’s that absurd. It’s something you only see in movies when the director wants you to know that the bad guys are, well, bad at their jobs. But unfortunately for Seonghwa and his team, the mob aren’t bad at their jobs. They’re a little too good at their jobs, actually.

He trusts Wooyoung’s judgment though, even if the other man has been acting a bit prickly towards him recently. Seonghwa trusts Yeosang’s judgment too; although Wooyoung’s the one talking to him right now, Seonghwa knows that they’re both in agreement about what they think they saw.

So, Seonghwa nods and says, “Okay. Will one of you type up a report of what you saw? It needs to be added to the case file.”

“What? Just like that?” Wooyoung asks, looking and sounding surprised.

Seonghwa grins at him. “What, did you expect me to push back and tell you that there’s no way that you saw what you think you saw?”

Wooyoung rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, actually.”

“I trust your instincts and your judgment implicitly. That goes for both of you. If you’re confident that you saw an over-the-counter gun deal, then I’m confident that’s what you saw,” Seonghwa tells him, trying and failing not to snicker a little. Not at Wooyoung, obviously, but once again at how absurd this all seems.

Wooyoung seems to get it, thankfully, because he laughs too. “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? But yeah, alright. I’ll get Yeosangie to type that up then, since he’s better at reports than I am.”

He’s not lying. Yeosang writes great reports. Not as good as Jongho’s reports, sure, but they’re still pretty great. Wooyoung, well...it seems to depend on his mood or how interested he is in the case at hand.

“Tell him to get that to me by the end of the day if he can, please,” Seonghwa says. “And thanks.”

“No problem,” Wooyoung shrugs. “You said it yourself, we’re all working on this case now. Besides, if I can do something now that might keep San safe later, obviously I’m going to do it,” he adds before turning and walking away.

For once, Seonghwa’s relieved that he doesn’t have a chance to get the last word in. He doesn’t know what he could have said in response to a statement like what Wooyoung just said that isn’t simply a repeat of something he’s already said.

* * *

If Seonghwa wasn’t so certain they were in the clear, he’d think they were being set up for an elaborate trap.

The amount of information they’re getting from the bugs is mind-boggling. Like, it’s genuinely blowing Seonghwa’s mind that any criminal outfit would be this blatantly open about their activities in a semi-public place, let alone that the  _ mob _ would be. It fits with the behavior that Yeosang and Wooyoung saw last weekend, so it’s not as shocking as it  _ could _ be, Seonghwa supposes, but it still doesn’t make any sense to him. The bugs have been in place since last Thursday night, and they’ve already got hundreds of pages of transcripts in just four days that Jongho had taken the time to type up for them to go through (Seonghwa knows that it’s mostly Jongho wanting to feel useful that had led to him taking that extra effort, and while it wasn’t necessary he’s grateful for it anyway).

“They’re taking hiding in plain sight to a whole new level,” Hongjoong muses out loud. “They literally have a quote unquote ‘menu’ that their, ah,  _ clientele  _ can use for smaller transactions like they’re ordering a fucking drink.”

Seonghwa grimaces. Yes, he’s aware that refuge in absurdity is a thing, but this is too much. “That would be what Wooyoung and Yeosang saw, then,” he sighs, looking away from his computer to look at Hongjoong despite the fact that the other man’s head is pretty much blocked by the laptop in front of him. “Is there any hint about what someone might have bought if it rang up as a case of tequila?” he adds, not really expecting anything.

Of course, Hongjoong swears under his breath maybe a minute later. “Six assault rifles, apparently. Oh, and asking for a case of Bud Light is apparently code for a dozen handguns if you were curious about that too.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” Hongjoong says, laughing a little. “Jesus Christ. I know this isn’t funny, but I can’t believe how brazen this all is.”

Brazen’s a really good word for it, actually. The mob clearly thinks they’re untouchable—and maybe they would have been, had that one informant not given Yunho and San the tip about the bar. Seonghwa really needs to call the district attorney soon to update her on just what that tip has gotten them, both to ensure she’s in the loop and to give her something else to consider when the topic of plea deals comes up for their informant, Seonghwa thinks. They’d still be at a total loss here if it hadn’t been for them.

Seonghwa goes to minimize the PDF file he’s been reading for the last two hours to send off an email real quick, but something catches his eye at the last second that stops him in his tracks. San’s name.

Well, not San,  _ Sam _ , but close enough considering that Sam is what San goes by at the bar.

As he reads through the transcript, Seonghwa feels his blood run cold. According to Jongho’s careful labelling, there’s four men involved in the discussion, and the general consensus seems to be that San’s a good, trustworthy kid. One that they’d like to bring into the organization at some point, since he’s personable and takes instruction well.

_ Takes instruction well _ , Seonghwa mouths to himself. He feels sick to his stomach just reading it.

“Seonghwa?” Hongjoong says, and something in his voice makes Seonghwa think this isn’t the first time he’s said his name. “You okay over there? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Seonghwa doesn’t truly trust himself to speak right now. Instead, he highlights the parts he’d just read with his cursor and flips his monitor around so Hongjoong can see for himself. He can tell the second that the words click in Hongjoong’s brain, because the other man’s eyes go wide. 

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Hongjoong swears. “Mingi was right.”

“What?” Seonghwa asks.

“After that meeting we all had last week, Mingi and Yunho were talking in the conference room after everyone else cleared out,” Hongjoong starts. “I left my notepad in there so I went back to get it, and Mingi was saying that he thinks that the mob probably wants to bring San into the fold, even if it meant they had to get rid of you somehow.”

Seonghwa bares his teeth, almost unconsciously. If he was a dog he’d probably be snarling right now. “I haven’t seen them mention me, but I’d like to see them try to get rid of me,” he says. He’s not stupid; he knows what Mingi meant when he apparently said that mob might be interested in getting rid of Seonghwa. He knows Hongjoong knows too. It’s actually rather obvious, since the mob is one of the few organizations out there that tend to deal in absolutes.

“Yeah, I’d put my money on you against any one of them,” Hongjoong says, and the nice thing is that Seonghwa knows he means it. “But hey, Hwa?”

“Yeah?” Seonghwa asks, turning the monitor back to its normal position.

“You know that they’re not going to get the opportunity to even formulate a plan to get San into their organization for real, right? We’re closing in on them. With as much information as these bugs are giving us, we’ll have enough info to stage a raid by the end of next week.”

Seonghwa clenches his jaw. “Since we’re already in this fucking deep, we’re not going in until there’s a big enough deal going down that Son himself might be there,” he says fiercely. “If we don’t, it’s only a matter of time before they just move locations and start back up again, and I’m over this mess.”

Hongjoong blinks rapidly. “Well. Okay. I’m good with that, but I figured you’d want to be more cautious,” he admits.

“They have two of our men in their sights now, Joong,” Seonghwa reminds him. “First Jongho, now San. If we’re cautious, they might get cocky and then more aggressive in trying to recruit San as an actual member or in trying to get Jongho to turn. I don’t want to give them the opportunity to even  _ try _ .”

“Sounds like we’ve got the start of a plan then,” Hongjoong says, looking more intense than Seonghwa’s ever seen him look before (which is saying a  _ lot _ , Hongjoong being Hongjoong and all).

“Looks like we do,” Seonghwa agrees, finally minimizing the PDF file he’s been staring at all day to pull up his email. He’s got an email to Washington to start drafting.

* * *

In the end, it takes three weeks. Three weeks of Seonghwa spending nearly almost every waking moment obsessing over transcripts and floor maps and plans and backup plans and backup plans to the backup plans and putting himself through hell, if he’s being honest with himself, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

What matters is that the raid not only went off without a hitch, but was more successful than Seonghwa had ever dared hope it could have been. Somehow, every single high ranking member of the mob that Seonghwa had identified all those days ago was there, not to mention half a dozen members of the gang they were selling the guns to tonight. They’d actually ended up arresting so many people that they’d had to call the local PD for extra backup; the three vans they’d brought to the site hadn’t been large enough to transport everyone they took into custody.

Seonghwa exhales loudly enough that the sound attracts the attention of several people. Hongjoong’s closest to him, and he gives Seonghwa a wry grin.

“I kind of can’t believe it’s all over,” Hongjoong admits, moving to stand next to Seonghwa and bump their shoulders together companionably. “It kind of feels anti-climatic after all of the buildup.”

“I hate to admit it, but I think I agree,” Seonghwa says slowly. “I was expecting—well, I don’t know what I was expecting. I just know that it wasn’t walking in and basically taking the entire leadership of the mob out in one fell swoop like this.”

Hongjoong laughs out loud. “It’s fucking crazy, is what it is. I bet it’s going to be strange for you to not have to come here multiple nights a week anymore, huh.”

“Probably. I’ve gotten used to spending time with San after usual working hours,” Seonghwa agrees, his eyes flickering over to where San’s attacking the bartop with a screwdriver. He and Yeosang had become convinced there might be some sort of hidden compartment within it based on some files they’d found in the office, and Seonghwa hadn’t seen the point in stopping them from looking. The entire bar will be turned inside out by either their team or by investigators flown in from Washington to finish the job over the next few days, anyway.

“That’s not what—okay,” Hongjoong stops himself. “Anyway. Have you heard from Jongho or Yunho yet?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “Not yet. I was thinking about stepping outside and giving Jongho a call to see how it’s going,” he admits. Jongho had insisted on being one of the ones to transport the mob members they took into custody since they had forced him (and San) to stay in the vans during the initial raid due to an abundance of caution; Yunho had been the natural choice to drive the second one with it being his case and all, and Mingi and Wooyoung had decided to go along with them as backup. Hongjoong had offered to tag along as well, but Seonghwa had declined; as late as it already is, there’s no way they’re going to do anything more than get the men in their custody booked in tonight. Because of that, Hongjoong’s much more useful remaining on the scene to continue to gather evidence—he has a knack for finding things everyone else would have overlooked, anyway.

“I can keep an eye on things in here while you go do that, then,” Hongjoong offers.

“Do you think you can keep San and Yeosang from completely destroying the bartop?” Seonghwa asks idly.

Hongjoong laughs out loud at that. “I can’t make any promises there,” he grins. “San looks pretty determined.”

“Well, just try your best,” Seonghwa tells him, reaching out to pat Hongjoong’s shoulder. “This shouldn’t take long. I’ll be surprised if Jongho answers, honestly.”

Much to Seonghwa’s surprise, Jongho answers on the first ring. Seonghwa’s actually still on the sidewalk when he does; he’d placed the call as soon as he stepped outside instead of waiting until he’d ducked into the dingy alley to the left of the building because of how confident he’d been that he’d have to try calling Jongho a couple of times before getting an answer.

“You caught me on my way to call you, actually,” Jongho explains when Seonghwa expresses his disbelief. “We figured you’d want an update by now. How are things going there?”

“Fine. San and Yeosang are having the time of their lives destroying things,” Seonghwa says, fighting to keep the impatience he feels out of his voice as he turns into the alley. It smells awful, but it probably means no one will bother him. He’ll take that trade off. “How are things going on your end?”

“Pretty smoothly, all things considered,” Jongho says. “Almost everyone’s been booked in right now, and you were right when you said that they’d all refuse to speak without a lawyer. No lawyers have shown up yet, so we’re also assuming that they’re going to wait until tomorrow. Yunho wants to be there—”

“Obviously,” Seonghwa murmurs, just loudly enough for Jongho to hear.

“Yeah,” Jongho laughs. “Obviously. I think we may have to drag him out of here tonight honestly. And we figured Hongjoong would probably show up tomorrow to help out with that?”

Seonghwa nods, even though Jongho can’t see him. “Likely, yes. I think I’ve already been involved enough already, and I think San will probably appreciate having a day off where he’s not worrying about this case for the first time in a while.”

“I wouldn’t be sure about that,” Jongho says, sounding distracted. Seonghwa can hear the sound of footsteps echoing through the phone and winces. 

“Do you have to go?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jongho says immediately. “Sorry. I’ll call you again when we’re leaving, alright?”

“Sounds good. Be safe,” Seonghwa tells him, pulling the phone away from his ear to disconnect the call without waiting for Jongho to say goodbye. Goodbyes always feel so final, and Seonghwa tends to avoid them whenever he can. It’s a quirk most people around him have gotten used to.

Seonghwa stares up at the night sky for a brief moment, just to catch his breath. This deep in the city, there are hardly any stars visible due to the light pollution, but the sight has always calmed something deep inside of him anyway. Something about knowing that some things are set in stone, he supposes. “Time to go back inside, I guess,” he murmurs to himself, turning around to exit the alley.

But when he does so, he realizes that he’d been mistaken about the footsteps coming from Jongho’s end of the line. Either that, or the person who’s standing at the end of the alley pointing a gun in his direction had managed to have spectacularly good timing.

“Seonghwa Park,” the person says, taking three measured steps in Seonghwa’s direction. The gun in his hand doesn’t shake, and a pit of dread begins to form in Seonghwa’s stomach. “I was hoping we’d never have the opportunity to meet.”

“I can’t say the same, because I don’t know who you are,” Seonghwa says, brazen. “Mind informing me?” It’s a stalling tactic, but it’s usually a useful one.

Unfortunately for Seonghwa, the man laughs. “I could, but there’s no need. Not when you’re about to die,” he says, so, so casually that Seonghwa’s blood runs cold. 

“Can you at least tell me why I’m about to die?” Seonghwa asks, trying desperately to think of some way he can escape this. The only weapons he’s got on him right now are the knives in his boots; he’d taken his gun off earlier when he’d crawled into a hidden compartment that was so narrow he’d been legitimately afraid it might have gone off in such a small place, and hadn’t bothered to grab it before heading outside. A mistake, obviously, but not one he’d ever thought would cost him his life.

The man shrugs. “Sure, why not? No harm in granting someone his final wish,” he says. “You just arrested my boyfriend. I told him he should have been more suspicious of you, and that we needed to get rid of you, but he was too trusting. He won’t make that mistake next time, I’m sure,” he adds, confidently.

Seonghwa frowns. “Changkyun?” he asks.

“There’s something poetic about the fact that his name is going to be your last words, I think,” the man says, raising his gun so that it’s pointed directly at Seonghwa’s heart. “Goodbye, Park. See you in hell.”

Seonghwa closes his eyes. If he’s going to die, he doesn’t want the last thing he sees to be the bullet coming in his direction. It’s a fucking shame, though, he thinks— there are so many things he hasn’t done, so many things he hasn’t said that need to be said— 

A gunshot rings out, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body dropping to the ground. But Seonghwa’s still standing, despite the fact that his knees feel like they’re going to give out, and he doesn’t feel any pain, although that could just be the adrenaline running through him— 

“Seonghwa!” someone screams. It sounds like San, which is weird; if he’s dead, why is he hearing San’s voice?

“Seonghwa, you can open your eyes, it’s okay,” the voice that sounds like San says, sounding much closer to Seonghwa than it was before. “You can trust me. It’s okay.”

Seonghwa does trust San. He trusts San implicitly. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s still standing in the same dingy alley he was a minute ago, except there’s a lot more people around than there were then. Most of them are surrounding a crumpled heap close by, but he can see Hongjoong and Yeosang being held back from coming any closer by someone in a uniform. “I’m not dead,” he says, voice full of wonder.

“No, you’re not fucking dead, but you would have been had I turned the corner literally one second later,” San says, voice shaky. “Why didn’t you pull your gun? Did you  _ want  _ him to kill you or something? I swear to fucking god—”

“I left my gun inside and I wasn’t about to bring a knife to a gun fight,” Seonghwa interrupts, looking down at San. He realizes that San’s gripping his arm so tightly that the other man’s fingers are turning white, but he can’t feel it. San’s department-issued pistol hangs limply from his left hand, and Seonghwa reaches for it. “Did you put the safety back on?” he asks, latching on to San’s other arm.

“I did,” San says shortly, but Seonghwa can see the terror that’s still on his face. “I think you’re in shock.”

“Probably,” Seonghwa agrees. It would explain why he feels colder than he’s ever felt in his life right now and why he still can’t feel San gripping his arm as if both of their lives depend on it.

San makes a face. “Okay, let’s get you over to the paramedics. Do you think you can walk on your own?”

“Of course,” Seonghwa says, vaguely offended. “Actually, maybe not,” he amends a moment later, after he tries to take a single step and realizes his feet refuse to move.

“Thought so,” San mutters, giving Seonghwa an appraising look. He seems to come to a decision after a few seconds, because he nods to himself before dropping his grip on Seonghwa’s arm and crouching down— 

“Hey!” Seonghwa squawks, feeling like he might throw up from how roughly San just picked him up. Not even in a fireman’s carry, either, but in a princess hold.

“Sorry,” San says, sounding anything but. “This is the easiest way to get you over to the paramedics.”

As much as Seonghwa hates it, San’s right. “Fine,” he grumbles, managing to loop one of his arms around San’s neck to make it a little easier for him. “I’m trusting you,” he warns.

San grins up at him, looking almost like his normal self for the first time since Seonghwa opens his eyes. “I know.”

* * *

It’s so quiet in Seonghwa’s apartment right now that he can hear the old clock his grandmother had given him when he moved into his first apartment ticking away. He doesn’t mind it, though; the ticking of the clock is nicer to listen to than the beating of his own heart. It’s probably steadier right now too.

He’s alone, even though he knows he shouldn’t be. But Seonghwa is nothing but stubborn, and he’d known that he probably wasn’t going to sleep tonight. He’d also known that whoever had been tapped to spend the night with him after the paramedics gave him the all-clear to go home (and the local police had taken his statement about what had happened in the alley, of course) would feel obligated to stay up with him. Once he’d gotten Yeosang to promise that San wouldn’t be left alone, he’d accepted a ride home from Hongjoong, but refused to let Hongjoong come up with him. 

For maybe the first time since they’d met two years ago, Hongjoong hadn’t argued with him when he thought that Seonghwa was making a stupid decision. Instead, he’d smiled sadly and promised to come by in the afternoon to make sure Seonghwa had eaten something, which was a compromise that Seonghwa was able to accept.

A sudden knock on the door yanks Seonghwa out of his thoughts, startling him so much that he almost falls right out of his bed. According to his phone, it’s just past four in the morning; Seonghwa’s met a lot of people in his life, but he’s never met anyone who thought the middle of the night was a good time for a social call.

So even though someone with bad intentions wouldn’t bother knocking, and everyone in this city who wants him dead is either in jail or dead themselves, Seonghwa pulls his gun out of his bedside drawer and double checks to make sure it’s still loaded before he leaves the room. After what happened tonight, there’s no such thing as being too prepared or too cautious, he thinks.

Seonghwa comes to a stop three feet away from his front door, his thumb resting on the safety of his gun. He can hear someone moving outside, so whoever had knocked is still there. Still waiting.

“Who’s there?” he shouts. The roughness of his own voice makes him wince a little, but it might be beneficial. It might make him sound more intimidating than he apparently actually is.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice calls back, sounding just as agitated as Seonghwa himself feels. “Let me in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: I want to apologize for being gone so long! I know 2020 hasn't been easy for most of us, but it's been a particularly rough summer for me. But I'm back! Thank you for being patient.
> 
> Second: I have read all the comments on the last chapter and treasure them all, but I did not want to reply without posting. So I will get to those this weekend!
> 
> Finally: I can't promise when the next update will be out, but I *can* promise a shorter wait than this one!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/zero__miles) || [cc](https://curiouscat.me/zero__miles)


	8. collide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the updated tags/rating!
> 
> Also: I had [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nt-jb5JHWB8) on repeat while writing this bad boy, might help set the mood :D

Seonghwa shoves the gun into the waistband of his pajama pants so he has both hands free to unlock the door. He nearly yanks the door off the hinges with how forcefully he opens it, and sure enough, San’s standing there looking disheveled. If Seonghwa was a betting man, he’d bet that San’s shoes aren’t even on properly.

“What the fuck are you doing here? It’s like three in the morning,” Seonghwa demands, ushering him inside hurriedly. After the hell that the last eighteen hours or so have been, the last thing he needs is an angry neighbor.

“More like a quarter ‘til four, actually,” San retorts, stopping so close to the door that Seonghwa barely has the room to close it without hitting him. “And. I don’t know. I kept having nightmares.”

“I don’t think I have to ask about what,” Seonghwa says, closing his eyes.

San laughs sardonically. “Yeah, no.”

“But why are you here?” Seonghwa presses. He can’t figure out why San chose to come to him, of all people, rather than Wooyoung or maybe Yeosang or—anyone else, really. Even Hongjoong. God knows that Seonghwa isn’t very good at being emotional support under normal circumstances, let alone a situation like this one— 

San doesn’t answer him. Or at least, he doesn’t answer Seonghwa with words. Instead, he takes a determined step forward so that he can fist his hands in Seonghwa’s worn-out sleep shirt and kiss him. It catches Seonghwa off guard, and a part of Seonghwa’s brain recognizes that this might have been intentional even as the rest of his brain shuts down in favor of living in the moment for once in his goddamned life.

So instead of overthinking the situation they’re now in, Seonghwa lets himself sink into the feeling of San’s mouth against his, relishing in the way that San takes control so effortlessly. He rarely hooks up with people outside of his (admittedly extremely rare) relationships since he’s unable to let himself go easily, but with San it feels natural. 

So natural, even, that Seonghwa doesn’t realize that San’s managed to guide them to Seonghwa’s bedroom without interrupting their kiss until Seonghwa’s hip bumps into the doorframe, startling him. 

“Sorry,” San says, grinning in a way that makes Seonghwa think he’s not actually that sorry. “Your door isn’t as wide as I thought it was. You alright?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa replies. It didn’t hurt him, but even if it had, Seonghwa wouldn’t have minded. He’s always liked being marked up one way or another during sex, and at this point there’s no question about where this is headed. Not when San’s leading him so determinedly to his own bedroom. 

But still— 

“You want this too, right?” Seonghwa asks, pulling back just enough from San that he can see the younger man’s face clearly. He takes a moment to feel grateful that he’d flipped his bedside light on before leaving the room; otherwise, they’d be shrouded in complete darkness. “This isn’t just—I don’t know, you trying to keep me from thinking about how I was—”

“Seonghwa,” San interrupts, sounding disbelieving, “I’ve wanted this since the first moment I ever fucking saw you. Don’t overthink it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Seonghwa replies, and allows himself to surrender to the moment and the emotions surging within him, even if just for tonight.

San uses his grip on Seonghwa’s waist to steer him over to his bed, following him down with a laugh when the back of Seonghwa’s knees colliding with the mattress causes him to tumble backwards with a breathless gasp. 

It feels like a switch flips inside San once Seonghwa’s on his back underneath him, because his kisses become more insistent and his hands become greedy, roaming the broad expanse of Seonghwa’s torso and chest. But San’s still visibly hesitant; he doesn’t dare to slide one of his hands underneath Seonghwa’s shirt to touch his bare skin despite the fact that Seonghwa  _ knows _ that San can tell that he’s hard— not only are they pressed tightly together, the material of Seonghwa’s pajama bottoms are thin, worn with age and repeated washings. 

So Seonghwa pulls back from San just enough that he can pull his own shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere off to the side. 

“Whoa,” San says, sounding reverent, even as his eyes visibly darken. “Can I—”

“Touch me, don’t be shy,” Seonghwa urges. His blood is running hot through his veins, and as ridiculous as it sounds he thinks he might die soon if he doesn’t get San’s hands back on his soom, preferably against his bare skin. “Unless you’re scared?” he adds. A risk, taunting the person currently straddling your waist, but it’s a calculated one in Seonghwa’s eyes.

And it works. The sound San makes in response is somewhere between a snarl and a growl, completely inhuman, even as he rises to his knees to pull his own shirt off and drop it unceremoniously onto the floor. But instead of going back to kissing his mouth, like Seonghwa expects, San shifts downwards and begins to kiss his way across Seonghwa’s chest. He stops briefly to worry his teeth against one of Seonghwa’s nipples, drawing a moan out of him, but otherwise seems determined to map every inch of Seonghwa’s skin with his mouth.

In most circumstances, Seonghwa would be fine with this turn of events—he’s only human, after all, and anyone would revel in feeling as, well, as  _ worshipped _ as San’s making him feel right now. But the fire inside of him for the man in his bed only burns hotter with each brush of his lips against skin, and when San shifts so that his fingertips ghost along the waistband of Seonghwa’s pajama bottoms, maddeningly slowly like he’s trying to be a tease, Seonghwa finally breaks.

“San,” he moans, voice breaking, “fuck me, fuck me, please.”

San goes completely still. “What?” he squeaks.

“Fuck me,” Seonghwa repeats, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at San. “Unless you don’t—want to?” he adds, suddenly feeling unsure due to San’s reaction.

“I do, I do, oh my god yes,” San rushes out. “I—I wasn’t expecting that.”

Somehow, Seonghwa’s still able to laugh even with the situation they’re in. “What were you expecting, Sannie?” he asks, the pet name slipping out unconsciously. 

“It doesn’t matter,” San replies, shaking his head. “Do you have lube? Condoms?”

Seonghwa nods. “Top drawer of my dresser,” he tells San, making no effort to move himself to get them even when San clearly waits for him to get up. Only when it becomes obvious that Seonghwa has no intention of moving from his position on the bed does San get up, stumbling in his eagerness to get the supplies out of the drawer.

While San’s back is turned to him, Seonghwa shoves his pajama pants and his underwear off in one rough motion, sighing in relief when his cock springs free from its confines. San divests himself of his own pants before he crawls back on the bed to settle between Seonghwa’s spread thighs, supplies in hand.

“You’re so hard,” San breathes out, licking his lips as he stares at Seonghwa’s cock.

Seonghwa squirms a little, unsure if it’s from embarrassment or anticipation. “It’s been a while,” he says defensively.

San hums as he takes Seonghwa’s cock in his hand, stroking it languidly. The first few strokes blur the line between pleasurable and painful before the pre-cum steadily leaking from Seonghwa’s cock makes the glide more smooth. Seonghwa moans wantonly when San presses his thumbnail against his slit, and San grins dangerously down at him.

“You like that, I see,” San murmurs.

“Yes,” Seonghwa answers even though it was an observation, not a question. “San,  _ please _ ,” he begs. 

“Fine,” San acquiesces, pressing his mouth against the tip of Seonghwa’s cock before releasing it. “Would it be easier for you to stretch yourself? I don’t want to hurt you.”

It probably would be, but that’s not what Seonghwa wants and he says as such. San laughs, a little, but he takes the hint and grabs the bottle of lube from where he’d let it drop onto the blankets a few moments before.

San’s nimble fingers make quick work of stretching Seonghwa out; it’s a contrast from how he’d been attempting to drag things out earlier, and Seonghwa thinks that he’s not the only one whose patience has about worn thin.  _ Finally _ .

“Last chance to change your mind,” San warns as he rolls the condom onto his length, finally giving Seonghwa the chance to drink in the sight of San’s cock. It’s beautiful, just like the rest of San, and Seonghwa wants it inside of him five minutes ago.

“San, I swear if you ask me again or try to drag this out any longer I’m going to flip you over and ride you into the mattress instead,” Seonghwa threatens.

“I don’t know, that seems like a good idea to me,” San retorts, even as he finally presses the blunt head of his cock against Seonghwa’s entrance.

Seonghwa doesn’t have a chance to internally gloat about correctly guessing that San wouldn’t want to give up any of the control Seonghwa had so easily placed in his hands before San slides home in one smooth thrust; his mind goes blank, unable to focus on how fucking  _ good  _ San’s cock feels. “Kiss me,” he orders.

San complies, caging Seonghwa’s head with his forearms against the pillow as he kisses him hot and dirty, going as far as to suck on Seonghwa’s tongue when Seonghwa whines, overwhelmed by just how intense everything feels right now.

“Can I move?” San asks, so close that his mouth brushes against Seonghwa with every syllable.

“Please,” Seonghwa cries.

San starts off slowly, calculatedly, like he’s trying to figure out which angle feels the best for Seonghwa. Seonghwa digs his heels into San’s lower back, trying to urge him to move faster, only for the demand to die on his tongue as San hits his prostate dead on and Seonghwa  _ screams _ . 

“There we go,” San mutters, dropping his head so that his sweaty hair brushes against Seonghwa’s face.. “Seonghwa, I—oh, I’m not going to last long,” he admits, even as he begins to fuck into Seonghwa at an almost bruising pace.

“Me either,” Seonghwa confesses, reaching between the press of their bodies to fist his own cock. He fucks up into his own fist ruthlessly as San continues to pound into him while murmuring a steady stream of filth into Seonghwa’s ear. The words run together in Seonghwa’s muddled, lust-hazed mind, but it sends sparks down his spine anyway.

When San nips his earlobe, most likely trying to give himself a moment to catch his breath more than anything, Seonghwa’s orgasm hits him like a freight train out of nowhere as he comes harder than he’s ever come before, clenching around San’s cock as he spills into his fist.

“Oh my god, did you just—you did,” San breathes out. “That’s so hot.”

Seonghwa brings his hand to his face without thinking and licks his own cum off of his fingers, and the effect on San is immediate—his eyes roll back into his head and his rhythm falters, coming with a whine even as he continues to thrust erratically into Seonghwa. He drops his head so that his forehead is resting against Seonghwa’s clavicle, panting heaving into Seonghwa’s ear as he comes down from his orgasm.

San’s softening cock slips out of Seonghwa sooner than he’d have liked, and he groans as his hole clenches uselessly around nothing. “Ugh.”

San huffs out a laugh. “Sorry,” he says, bright, like he wanted to tease a little and missed the mark by a mile. He rises up onto his knees to remove the condom and tie it off; Seonghwa half expects him to drop it onto the floor for them to deal with in the morning, but San surprises him once again when he staggers to his feet. “Do you need anything?” he asks, chest rising and falling heavily. 

He looks like he’s just ran a marathon, and pride surges through Seonghwa.

“Just a cloth to clean up with,” Seonghwa answers, pulling himself to a sitting position.

“No, stay there,” San urges. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay,” Seonghwa agrees, collapsing back onto the pillows. 

True to his word, San returns quickly, but he also brings Seonghwa a bottle of water out of his fridge along with a damp washcloth. “I know you didn’t ask for this, but you have to be thirsty,” San tells him, passing Seonghwa the water. “Here, scoot over. I’ll take care of you, alright?”

_ I’m in love with you _ , Seonghwa thinks, the words springing to mind unbidden and resting on the tip of his tongue. But now’s not the time to speak those words into existence, to say the least, so instead he nods, allowing San to shift his body closer to the center of the bed while he cracks open the bottle of water.

So, he’s in love with San. At some point along the way, Seonghwa’s fallen in love with the kind, passionate, headstrong, beautiful-inside-and-out-man currently in his bed; he doesn’t know when it happened, but it’s not like that truly matters. A realization this momentous should be leaving Seonghwa shaken to his core for so many reasons—the least of which is that San is his  _ subordinate _ —but instead, a sense of calm settles over Seonghwa. He feels almost relieved, kind of like how it feels to come home on a cold rainy night. 

“San,” he says quietly, watching as San carefully folds up the washcloth now that he’s finished cleaning Seonghwa up.

The smile San gives him is all dimples, and Seonghwa’s heart skips a beat. In hindsight, it’s not the first time he’s had that reaction to the full force of San’s smile, but knowing why he’s reacting this way to it feels different. It feels new. “Yeah?” San asks, equally quietly. “You back with me? It looked like your mind wandered off for a minute there.”

That may be the understatement of the decade, although San doesn’t know it. “Yeah, I’m good,” Seonghwa confirms. “You’re staying the night, right? There’s no way you’re fit to drive home right now.”

San’s smile seems to falter a little, but it’s back to full strength so quickly that Seonghwa figures his eyes must be playing tricks on him now that exhaustion is truly beginning to settle into his bones. “Of course. I would hate to worry you,” San answers, leaning over to set the washcloth on Seonghwa’s bedside table. He flips off the light as he does so, plunging the two of them into darkness for the first time since San had shown up at Seonghwa’s door in the first place. 

“Goodnight, San,” Seonghwa yawns, snuggling into his pillow as the mattress shifts with the movement of San settling down against his side. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to stop making promises about when the next update will be posted--but I can promise that this fic will be finished! Don't worry!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/zero__miles) || [cc](https://curiouscat.me/zero__miles)


	9. deluge

The next morning, Seonghwa wakes up alone.

He’s so used to waking up alone that it takes him a moment to register that he shouldn’t be; it’s only when he moves and his lower body protests the movement that he remembers the events of the previous day: the raid, San showing up just in time to save Seonghwa from certain death—

San showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, San fucking him within an inch of his life, San promising to stay. 

Seonghwa even tries to call San a couple times, just in case it turns out San just left to go fetch them coffee or breakfast and this is just a misunderstanding in that kind of cheesy, romantic comedy type of way that seems so ridiculous on the screen, let alone real life. But when all the call attempts go straight to voicemail and Seonghwa’s still alone in his apartment two hours later, any hope of San returning fades away.

Seonghwa had assumed that the promise San had made, that he’d stay, had extended into daylight hours. Apparently he was wrong—and he doesn’t know what that means for himself, either.

* * *

Hongjoong’s waiting for him on the steps of the federal building on Monday morning, and Seonghwa’s heart sinks. Hongjoong only arrives at work this early when someone orders him to, but Seonghwa hasn’t spoken to him since he’d left the scene of the raid early Sunday morning. That can only mean one thing.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, voice carefully neutral, “I wanted to talk to you before you go inside today.”

This is it, Seonghwa thinks dully. Everything he’s spent his adult life working towards is about to go down in flames because of one adrenaline fueled night. In the past twenty four hours, Seonghwa’s managed to puzzle out several things he regrets about what happened between him and San on Saturday night. Potentially losing his job isn’t one of them, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t sting. Mostly because he hadn’t actually thought that San would turn around and report him this quickly, but then again, he hadn’t actually thought that he’d wake up alone yesterday morning either.

“That was fast,” he remarks. “Suspension pending an internal review, right?”

The look Hongjoong gives him gives Seonghwa the distinct impression that his eyes might have popped out of their sockets just now if that was physically possible. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, bewildered. “I wanted to give you a heads up that Washington called me yesterday afternoon to tell me that they’re sending in psychs today to talk to you and San because I know how opening up to people is a struggle for you.”

“Right, right. Of course you were,” Seonghwa nods, swallowing around the lump that’s forming in his throat. “Because that makes sense. Of course it does. San and I both experienced a rather traumatic event Saturday night, so of course they’re going to follow protocols to the letter here.”

Hongjoong crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, you just said ‘of course’ three times in like three sentences, which you only do when you’re feeling rattled. So something happened that I don’t know about,” he deduces, eyes narrowing contemplatively.

“I left a secure area unarmed during the middle of an active investigation and was literally seconds away from paying with my life for that lapse in judgment,” Seonghwa reminds him. “That’s a pretty big fucking breach of protocol, no? I’d flay any of our guys alive for a call that bad long before the suits had a chance to get involved.”

It’s technically true, of course, but it’s also a complete lie. Seonghwa thinks Hongjoong knows it too, but there’s also no way he’s going to call Seonghwa out considering the reality of the situation they’re in. 

And he doesn’t. He gives Seonghwa a long, searching look before he sighs and pats Seonghwa’s arm companionably. “Well, you know where to find me if you do want to talk about what happened on Saturday night, or things that happened at some point that wasn’t this past Saturday night in the Warehouse District but are still worth discussing,” he says cryptically. 

“There’s nothing to discuss, but I appreciate it nonetheless,” Seonghwa replies, deciding to pretend that he doesn’t hear how Hongjoong snorts derisively in response. 

Today’s going to be hard enough between the shrink coming in to pick at him for god knows how long and seeing San again and trying to figure out how he’s supposed to act now after the man he’s in love with had, quite literally, slipped out of his apartment under the cover of night after promising he wouldn’t. The last thing Seonghwa needs right now is to purposefully pick a fight with Hongjoong when he’s letting Seonghwa get away with a blatant lie, even if he’s making it obvious that he’s doing just that.

* * *

The psychiatrist Hongjoong had felt it necessary to warn Seonghwa about shows up at the office before Seonghwa’s even finished logging into his work email. Seonghwa’s not sure if it’s intentional, an attempt to catch him off guard before he can rehearse some canned answered for the faux-sympathetic suit who’s been sent to interrogate him in the guise of mental health concerns, or if the man’s just habitually early; either way, it doesn’t matter. 

Seonghwa’s on edge from the start of the conversation simply due to the fact that it’s happening in the first place. His irritation goes from simmering beneath the surface to erupting like a volcano in the blink of an eye when the psychiatrist suggests, without an ounce of tact, that Seonghwa might have intentionally wandered the streets unarmed  _ because  _ he knew that any mobsters who might have slipped through the cracks of the raid would want him dead.

“Are you serious?” he demands, clenching his jaw in an attempt to keep himself from yelling at the man sitting across from him. “Have you  _ seen _ my file?”

“I have,” he confirms.

“Then why in the hell would you ask me a question like that?” Seonghwa demands. Even though the last thing Seonghwa needs is for the psychiatrist to write up a report about how he’s clearly unfit for duty due to volatile emotions or some bullshit, but he’s struggling to keep his temper in check at the moment and he  _ knows _ the psychiatrist can tell.

The psychiatrist pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, sniffing audibly. “That’s why I ask. I believe that your foolish by any standard of measure decision to breach the secure perimeter unarmed was a decision that you, consciously or subconsciously, knew might lead to your death. Perhaps your previous experiences with a potentially mob-affiliated organization—”

“With the mob,” Seonghwa interrupts, heated.

“That your previous experiences with a potentially mob-affiliated organization have left you with crippling survivor’s guilt,” the psychiatrist continues, unperturbed, “and suicidal ideation. I assume you don’t see a therapist regularly, if you’re engaging in these types of reckless behaviors.”

Seonghwa stands up abruptly. “I have a therapist I see. Your records should have indicated that, but instead you jumped to conclusions designed to fit your own narrative. I don’t want to speak with you any longer.”

“I’m sure the agency will be concerned to hear that you’re cutting a mandated psychiatric eval short,” the psychiatrist tells him, arching an eyebrow condescendingly. 

“There are two sides to every story and surely you have to know that every single inch of this office is equipped with security cameras,” Seonghwa informs him. “Please leave. I’ll escort you out.”

Seonghwa must have raised his voice more than he’d been aware of doing, because Hongjoong opens his office door before Seonghwa gets a chance to. “I’ll do it,” he tells Seonghwa, giving him a meaningful look that Seonghwa doesn’t even want to begin to try to interpret. “Come on,” he adds, turning to the psychiatrist, who stands up without sparing Seonghwa another glance.

He follows Hongjoong and the psychiatrist out of his office, mostly because he’s genuinely concerned that the psychiatrist might decide to air Seonghwa’s personal dirty laundry out into the open out of pettiness. One person in the building knows what Seonghwa’s been through in the past, and that’s more than enough, he thinks.

When Seonghwa enters the bullpen, he immediately notices two things: one, San isn’t there, and two, the look in Wooyoung’s eyes when Seonghwa makes accidental eye contact with him is that of pure, unadulterated contempt. Seonghwa’s never claimed to be a genius or anything like that, but he doesn’t need to be to realize that those two things are connected.

Seonghwa pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I’ll be in my office,” he mutters, ignoring the concerned looks that most of the occupants in the room give him. “I’ve got reports to write.”

He does, in fact, have reports to write. And phone calls to make. And security tapes to pull, because Seonghwa knows for a fact that he’s going to have to prove that he was, for all intents and purposes, baited by the psychiatrist that was sent to interview him if he wants to avoid the long internal suspension he’d been so sure he was already hit with just an hour and a half ago. But a suspension or at least a paid leave of some sort is inevitable at this point, and Seonghwa needs to prepare for that as well.

It’s with that in mind that Seonghwa seeks out Yeosang before he leaves for the day. He finds Yeosang alone in the breakroom pouring himself a cup of coffee, a stroke of luck that Seonghwa had hoped for but had resigned himself to not getting.

“Yeosang,” Seonghwa says to Yeosang’s back. 

Yeosang visibly stiffens and stops stirring his coffee, but otherwise makes no indication that he’d heard Seonghwa. That’s fine, though. Seonghwa can work with that. At least he knows Yeosang is listening.

“I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be in tomorrow, if you know someone or multiple someones who might be interested in that information,” Seonghwa begins. It’s the truth—he fully intends on calling in tomorrow if he doesn’t get a call from Washington first. “I will almost certainly be out of the office for the rest of the week, actually. Pretty sure I’m going to be placed on leave pending a review of that...meeting I had today,” he continues, not bothering to keep the disdain he feels out of his voice.

“It was stupid of you to yell at that psychiatrist like that,” Yeosang says, voice calm, as he resumes stirring his coffee.

“Probably,” Seonghwa allows. “But it was justified in my opinion, and I genuinely believe that the higher ups will agree with me. Hopefully I’ll be back sometime next week, but I’m sure Hongjoong will keep you all updated. Don’t spread this around unnecessarily, either.”

Yeosang’s clever—always has been, always will be. Seonghwa’s sure that he understands the hidden message in his last sentence; he still has to keep some ambiguity for appearance’s sake, just in case someone in Washington decides they need to review every move Seonghwa makes in this office today. He wouldn’t put it past them.

“I’ll only mention it to people who need to know,” Yeosang reassures him.

That should be the end of the conversation. Seonghwa told Yeosang what he came to tell him. Full stop. But— 

“Tell him I’m sorry,” Seonghwa whispers.

For a long moment, Seonghwa thinks Yeosang genuinely may not have heard him this time. That is until Yeosang finally turns around and looks him square in the eyes. “Do you even know what you’re trying to apologize for?” he asks, his expression is much more sympathetic than Seonghwa would have expected from him, all things considered.

He doesn’t give Seonghwa a chance to answer before he leaves the room, but that’s alright. Seonghwa doesn’t know what he would have said, anyway.

* * *

Seonghwa was right about one thing—once Washington heard about his explosive meeting with the psychiatrist they’d originally sent, he was promptly put on paid leave. But he was also wrong, because his leave lasts a lot longer than the three or four days he’d anticipated. 

It takes almost three weeks, four more psychiatric appointments, incident reports from every single member of his team regarding the night of the raid, and two excruciatingly long conference calls before Seonghwa finally gets the go-ahead to return to work the following Monday. It’s a relief for multiple reasons: mostly because Seonghwa’s been going crazy, sitting at home in his apartment with nothing to do but organize and reorganize his apartment over and over again, but also because returning to work will hopefully give him a chance to talk to San.

When he’d first been put on leave, Seonghwa had expected radio silence from his team. They’re busy people, and while he’s friendly with everyone, he’s not  _ friends _ with anyone except maybe Hongjoong, preferring to keep a professional distance between himself and his subordinates. In hindsight, that had been an excellent idea, because the one time he let his defenses slip just a little, well—well. So he had resigned himself to silence, and loneliness, if he’s being honest with himself.

Instead, his team, minus San (and Wooyoung, of course) have been texting him daily. Sometimes to update him on cases, even though they’re very much not supposed to be doing that right now, but more often than not just to check in with him and see how he’s holding up. Jongho even sent him an Uber Eats gift card one night, which was as sweet as it was bizarre. But every time his phone chimes with a new text, Seonghwa finds himself hoping that San’s the one behind the text even as the rational side of him knows it won’t be.

With nothing to do but clean and think for nearly three weeks now, Seonghwa’s replayed every second of that night a thousand times over in his mind by now. And try as he might, he can’t figure out what went wrong.

San made the first move. Never in a million years would Seonghwa have made the first move, of that he’s sure of. If San hadn’t kissed him first, nothing would have happened. Every bit of their hook-up was consensual as well, as they both made sure of it several times. They were both a little high on adrenaline and relief, yes, but there was no question they were both in their right minds, so to speak, the entire time.

The only thing that Seonghwa can think of is that his emotions were written all over his face whenever he had his stupid cliched realization that he’s actually in love with San, and that San saw right through him and realized he’d made a mistake. Although the idea that San doesn’t return Seonghwa’s feelings hurts like hell, Seonghwa’s both a grown ass man and a professional. He doesn’t think he’d have any problem returning to normal—normal, of course, being their professional relationship before the whole ordeal with San going undercover at the bar even began—if San would just  _ talk  _ to him. And unfortunately for Seonghwa, it seems like the only way he’s going to get that necessary conversation at this point is if it’s face to face. Yes, he does know where San lives, but—showing up at San’s apartment unannounced when San has been actively not communicating with Seonghwa for three weeks now seems like a huge boundary violation that Seonghwa isn’t willing to engage in. It’s also unnecessary, since they do work in the same building. They’ll get a chance to talk things out, Seonghwa thinks.

Or at least, he does right up until a sharp knock on his door late on the Friday before he’s supposed to return to work changes everything.

Hongjoong is maybe one of the last people Seonghwa expects to see on his doorstep, ever, let alone late on a Friday evening. He looks— Seonghwa doesn’t know how to describe how he looks, honestly. Mad? Frustrated? Disappointed? All of the above, somehow?

That doesn’t even take into consideration that Hongjoong shouldn’t know where he lives. 

“I know, you never told me your address, but they’re in your personnel records,” Hongjoong tells him before Seonghwa can say anything. “Yes, I looked. Yes, I’m using your confidential information to further personal means, blah blah blah. Write me up if you want when you come back on Monday, but this couldn’t wait.”

“I’m sure it could,” Seonghwa murmurs, but he allows Hongjoong to enter anyway. He suspects that Hongjoong would just stay out in the hall to yell at him through the closed door if he didn’t, so Seonghwa’s really just trying not to cause a scene right now. Truly.

“It can’t,” Hongjoong repeats, walking over to Seonghwa’s coffee table and slamming a manila folder down on top of it. “Do you know what this is?”

Seonghwa grits his teeth. “Obviously I don’t, because I’ve been out of the office for almost three weeks and I’m not supposed to know anything about what’s been happening. Remember?”

“You and I both know that’s not what’s been happening though,” Hongjoong glares at him, and Seonghwa realizes for the first time that the other man is legitimately pissed off. Seonghwa wasn’t kidding, though—he has no idea why Hongjoong is so worked up. Literally, he has not even an inkling as to what the problem could possibly be.

“That’s true, but I still don’t know what’s in that folder. Every update I’ve gotten has made it sound like everything is running smoothly despite my absence,” Seonghwa tells him, sitting down on the loveseat in his living room. 

Hongjoong must take it as a cue or an invitation to do the same, because he sits on the couch facing the loveseat, sliding the folder across the coffee table as he does so.

“That is a request to seek an inter-office transfer,” Hongjoong begins, slow and with something deadly in his tone, “that was turned into me this afternoon by San.”

Seonghwa had picked up the folder while Hongjoong was talking, but he nearly drops it at the bombshell Hongjoong just dropped. “He did what?” Seonghwa demands.

“He turned in a request to seek an inter-office transfer,” Hongjoong repeats, voice flat out icy now. “He specifically wants a transfer due to what he referred to as ‘irreconcilable differences with a supervisor’. I know he’s not talking about me, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa swallows against the lump in his throat as he opens the binder and flips through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for. There, near the bottom of the page in San’s precise handwriting, are the words that Hongjoong had just thrown at him.

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa says shakily, letting the folder fall onto his lap. This isn’t how things were supposed to go. He and San were supposed to talk like adults and figure out where the miscommunication was so they could fix it; San wanting to leave the  _ city _ to get away from Seonghwa? Is, quite honestly, the last thing Seonghwa ever could have imagined happening.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, sounding much, much more concerned than he had just a minute before, “did something happen between the two of you?”

“No,” Seonghwa answers reflexively. Obviously it’s a lie, but it’s a necessary one.

“Okay,” Hongjoong says, clearly seeing right through Seonghwa. “If I were to promise that this conversation is one hundred percent off the record and that nothing you say to me will ever be used against you, or used against San, would your answer change if I asked you that question again?”

Seonghwa nods minutely. So minutely that he’s not even sure that Hongjoong sees it until Hongjoong stands up so he can sit next to Seonghwa on the loveseat instead of on the couch across from him.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen. Even if it takes all night,” Hongjoong assures him.

It takes a minute, but eventually Seonghwa breaks. When he does, the whole mess pours out of him like a tidal wave and he tells Hongjoong everything— about how San had shown up at his apartment that fateful night, how they’d ended up having sex, how he’d woken up the next morning and San wasn’t there, how neither San or Wooyoung have spoken to him since.

But he also tells Hongjoong about how he’d and San both had been crossing the boundaries that were supposed to exist between the two of them for weeks before the raid as well; or, he tries to, before Hongjoong interrupts him.

“If you’re talking about San spending the night here because of bad weather one time, that’s a non-issue,” Hongjoong reminds him. “You guys both reported that one the next day.”

Seonghwa sighs. “He spent the night here once again two days later, for no reason besides the fact that I was having a rough night and he didn’t want me to be alone. I could have refused, obviously, but I also didn’t want to be alone and I specifically wanted him to be here. So I allowed it.”

“Oh,” Hongjoong breathes out. He almost looks more surprised by this information than he had by the revelation that Seonghwa had had sex with San; then again, Seonghwa wouldn’t be surprised if Hongjoong hadn’t come to his apartment with a good idea that just that had happened at some point, between Seonghwa’s behavior the Monday after the raid and San’s request to transfer out. 

“Yeah,” Seonghwa laughs mirthlessly. “We also almost kissed in the bar at one point. Theoretically it was so San wouldn’t blow his cover, but I wanted to. Had we been left alone, we probably would have,” he admits, both to Hongjoong and to himself. San almost kissing him (on the cheek, Seonghwa reminds himself, but still—an almost kiss) had been overshadowed by the rest of the night’s events, but he’d still, at least subconsciously, come to the conclusion that that interaction could have been one that spiraled out of control.

“I just—I don’t want him to leave,” Seonghwa says, feeling defeated. 

For maybe the second time in his life, Seonghwa’s found himself in a situation he doesn’t think he can fix, no matter how badly he wants to.

“You do realize what’s happening here, right?” Hongjoong asks cautiously. “Like, with you and San?”

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa asks, tilting his head confusedly.

Hongjoong sighs again. This one sounds almost annoyed. “I’m really going to have to spell it out for you, huh?”

Drumming his fingers against the folder still in his lap, Seonghwa rolls his eyes. Hongjoong can see him do it, he knows; Seonghwa just doesn’t care. “For the second time today, if I had any inkling as to what you were talking about I’d answer your question,” he retorts.

“You’re in love with San,” Hongjoong blurts out. “Like, that’s a thing that’s happening here. You’re stupidly in love with him.”

Seonghwa blinks at him. “I’m in love with San,” he echoes. “That’s your big announcement here?”

Hongjoong opens his mouth to say something in response, but Seonghwa returns the earlier favor and cuts him off. He doesn’t want to hear whatever smartass remark Hongjoong’s about to come out with.

“Do you think I’m stupid? I know I’m in love with San. That’s the whole fucking problem here. I’m in love with him and all I want is for him to be here with me, like, be with me always! But he left me three weeks ago, and now he’s trying to leave me permanently, and I’ve never had a broken heart before but I’m pretty sure I’m about to find out what one feels like,” Seonghwa concludes, and he hates how his voice cracks at the end.

“Whoa, hey, I don’t think it’s as bad as you think it is,” Hongjoong tries.

Seonghwa glares at him. “Are you telling me I’m wrong about how I feel?”

“Uh. No. No, I’m not doing that at all,” Hongjoong replies, sounding almost dumbfounded. “What I mean is that I don’t think this entire situation is hopeless.”

“San clearly hates me,” Seonghwa tells him, letting himself slump against the couch cushions. “Why else is he trying to leave without even talking to me? He clearly doesn’t even want to see me anymore. I guarantee he’s going to call in Monday. Not just Monday, but every day next week.”

Hongjoong snorts. “Yeah, no, I’m not taking that bet, he’s not going to show his face in the office again any time soon. You’re right about that. I just meant that— I don’t know, Seonghwa, I don’t think he hates you. And even if he’s acting like he does, my mother always told me that the opposite of love isn’t hate, but rather indifference.”

The absurdity of that statement tears a laugh out of Seonghwa. “Your mother did not always tell you that, Hongjoong.”

“Maybe not, but it made you smile,” Hongjoong counters. “But it’s also true. Like...okay, listen. Do I know what’s going on in San’s head? No. But I genuinely feel like there’s still a chance that this whole clusterfuck might work out for the best for everyone involved.”

“How? He’s already leaving,” Seonghwa says, petulant.

“You know as well as I do that I don’t have to approve or deny his request for ten days. So, if you really want to try to fix this—”

Seonghwa closes his eyes. “I want to fix this so bad.”

“--well, there’s your timeframe. You’ve got ten days. Since he gave this to me once working hours were done, I think I can get away with pushing it an extra day,” Hongjoong muses. “So you’ve got ten days starting tomorrow to either figure out how to salvage this situation, or to figure out how to let him go.”

Seonghwa doesn’t feel optimistic all of a sudden, per se, but he does at least feel less hopeless than he had several minutes ago. He’s got time to formulate a plan, to figure out what he’s going to say to San when (or if, realistically) he gets a chance to talk to him— 

But first, Seonghwa needs to talk to Wooyoung. 

He should probably update his will before he does though, Seonghwa thinks. There’s no guarantee he’s going to make it out of his conversation with Wooyoung alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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